Seismic Shift
by Queenafoster
Summary: A/U - New story from bits of 'Palms of Glory', 'Forty Rifles', and 'Earthquake'
1. Chapter 1

So I've always loved those stories that take bits and pieces of episodes, throw them in a blender and a whole new story pops out. And I've finally managed to write one of my own. It only took about ten years from the first scene I wrote (which comes near the end of the story). I thought about calling it 'Forty Earthquakes of Glory' but that didn't seem to make much sense. So I ended up changing the name. I do hope everyone enjoys it. Best,

Queena

Seismic Shift

Jarrod never went into a case expecting to win. There were too many variables: judge, client, witnesses, the jury, even the courthouse itself. Was the room too hot or too cold? Did someone have toast or biscuits for breakfast? Was the gravy burned? Did someone have a fight with his wife last night? Any one or all of those reasons could skew a verdict, so he never felt completely at ease that a case would swing in his client's favor.

Of course, in this particular situation none of the usual factors were in play. Instead it was the legislature and the governor who had the deciding votes, and unfortunately, Jarrod's arguments and pleas had only worked with the legislature. In the case of the governor, Jarrod's carefully written briefs had all been for naught as the state's executive vetoed the bill in favor of the railroad. It was a terrible blow after months of work, and Jarrod's neighbors and family weren't going to take the news well.

He studied the papers in front of him wondering what would happen next. It wasn't over yet. He still had several ideas; he certainly wasn't giving up. But a judge might be harder to persuade if he already knew that the state's chief executive supported the opposing side. And though he didn't like to think it, it was very possible that both the governor and the sitting judge were in the deep pockets of the Coastal & Western Railroad.

The railroad's attorney, Jacob Crown, was a tricky opponent. That was another variable that every lawyer had to consider. Entire cases could turn on the advocates. Jarrod had been up against lawyers who were crafty or intelligent or sneaky. Men who were down to earth, had plain common sense, were cunning, or seemed overwhelmingly officious. Sometimes a judge or jury ruled one way or another just based on whether the lawyers were likable.

Crown was brilliant. He was highly intelligent and an excellent business lawyer. One of his strengths was discernment. He was very good at sizing up men and figuring out their weak spots. And he was absolutely ruthless when pursuing a goal. His primary goal for the last decade was to take back the land that the railroad sold in the San Joaquin Valley—land sold to trusting people who'd foolishly believed that a deal was a deal. To a lawyer like Crown, any contract could be undone. One way or another, he usually found a way. And right now, the prevailing winds were blowing in his direction. The governor had ruled in favor of the railroad, and Jarrod figured Crown felt fairly confident at this point. Eviction notices were likely being considered if not already drawn up, even as the train rolled toward Stockton.

Crown's butler had just inquired if Jarrod was ready to receive the man himself. Interesting move that Crown offered to come to the Barkley car since he was also in a private car provided by the railroad. Jarrod was curious what his opponent's next play would be. In his place, Jarrod would want to find a way to still get the landowners to the table—to _force_ a deal from them. That way, the railroad could claim they had the consent and cooperation of the landowners despite the fact that it was technically unnecessary given the governor's veto. That would be a propaganda win alongside the legal victory.

When Crown arrived in the Barkley car, he started talking about the inevitability of Coastal & Western's eventual triumph. He even brought up the deaths of Tom Barkley and a dozen other people six years ago in this very same fight—a fact that was never far from Jarrod's mind whenever he worked the case. He certainly didn't need to be reminded by the likes of Jacob Crown who worked for the very men who'd had Jarrod's father assassinated—not that the crime could be proven in a court of law.

In the intervening years, the Barkley family had recovered from Tom's death, as much as possible anyway considering that they'd lost a man larger than life—their father and husband. Jarrod had taken over the legal fight against the railroad, and Nick had assumed leadership on the ranch which was thriving under his hand. Audra had grown into a bit of a minx, but Jarrod thought it was more likely her age and the social boundaries that were forced on women than outright rebellion. Gene was… well, Gene was trying to figure out what to do with himself. He was smart and determined and open-minded. He had grown into a young man with a multitude of choices, and he was taking time to decide what to do with the rest of his life.

Their mother had taken Tom's loss harder than any of her children. Husband and wife had been together for more than a quarter century when the assassin's bullet tore them apart, and Tom's loss had left a large hole in her life. But she'd rebuilt herself into an even stronger woman… which was hard to believe since Jarrod had always believed his mother was made of iron.

Jacob Crown was still talking about how the railroad was bound to win before the fight had even started all those years and many deaths ago. Jarrod refused to believe that was the case. His parents hadn't believed it was true, and he was bound and determined to prove them right. For Crown, this was a job, an assignment; for Jarrod, it was literally blood, sweat, and tears.

As Crown droned on, Jarrod looked out the window and glimpsed a flash of… something. A longer look brought him to the window. A young man on a horse was racing the train! After a second's delight and admiration, Jarrod couldn't help but see the parallels between the cowboy's ride against steam and steel and the valley's lowly farmers going up against the giant Coastal & Western Corporation. Even Crown was paying attention, and they quickly made a wager. It wasn't long before they had upped the ante from fifty bucks to almost two thousand dollars. The man on the horse was determined, but his foe had no heart. Who would win? Jarrod was pulling hard for flesh and blood, but Crown was just as certain that the fellow and his spirited mare had no chance.

The two of them pushed through the passenger cars to the front of the train where they had a better view. They were on the platform near the coal car when the man and his horse swept across the tracks just in front of the engine. It couldn't have been with more than a yard or two to spare, but he beat the train and, in doing so, renewed Jarrod's determination and fattened his wallet. Crown was philosophical about losing, but his confidence in the railroad's ultimate triumph remained unbroken. Jarrod accepted his winnings and tried to hold on to the positive feelings from the victory. He leaned around the corner of the car to see the young man and his game little horse and saw him blowing out the animal after the race across the open range. Jarrod raised his hand in thanks and farewell and was gratified to receive the same from the rider on the horse.

**BV**

Heath poked at his campfire, angry at himself. He'd hoped to make Stockton this evening, but his spur-of-the-moment—and _stupid—_race against the train had been hard on his horse. Knowing that chances for finding work were a whole lot better with a reliable horse _that wasn't ragged and worn out_, he'd decided to stop and make camp a half day's ride outside of town. No one to blame but himself… and he still couldn't explain the urge that came over him when he'd seen that train.

Staring at the fire, the events of the last few months weighed heavy on his mind. He'd been called away from hard, dreary work on the Klamath to his mother's deathbed. Riding back to Strawberry, he'd already been missing her. She should have had an easier life, but she'd long been saddled with a hard row to hoe—namely Heath himself. And way, _way_ in the back of his mind, he'd had faint hopes that she would finally reveal his father's name. Once he got to Strawberry, he'd waited close by her bedside, praying that he might be able to talk to her one more time and tell her again how sorry he was for his extended absences and how much he loved her, but it just wasn't meant to be. She'd died three days after he arrived, never again opening her eyes or saying another word.

Now he felt almost completely cut free from the world. The only real tie he had now was to sweet old Hannah James who, along with Rachel Caulfield, had helped his mother raise him. Rachel had passed on a few years back, and now his mother was gone, too. He knew Hannah loved him like he was her own and he loved her just as much, but it wasn't the same and never could be. Besides, she wasn't always in touch with the real world these days. Heath had stayed in Strawberry for several weeks after his mother's death to make sure Hannah would be all right. Each day, she'd slipped a little further from reach. Once she was gone—in body or in mind—he'd have no one. His aunt and uncle by blood had never considered him kin, and Heath felt no urge to ever see them again. So unless he was able to find the man who'd fathered him, he was truly on his own.

After his mother's burial, he'd gone through her belongings. Never far from her bedside was the old bible she'd brought across the mountains from Kentucky. It was one of her most prized possessions, handed down from her mother. Though he'd never felt much for religion one way or the other, he ended up flipping through the book for a fresh reminder of the life and history of the woman who'd loved him more than herself.

Inside the back cover, he'd found an old letter posted from Stockton the year he was born. It was from a man who told her that she was a good woman, that he cared for her, and that she should marry and have children. Though not spelled out in so many words, Heath got the distinct impression that this man named 'Tom' was his father. The coincidence of the specific farewell wishes, the fact that it was sent the year of his birth, and that his mother had kept the letter in her bible all these years made any other explanation seem unlikely.

He'd drifted back north. The miserable job on the river was long gone, but he'd had no other particular plans. He'd landed in Corning and worked on a ranch for a while, mostly trying to adjust to the idea that no one really cared if he was alive or dead. Well, Hannah cared—she loved him—but she didn't always remember him. One question kept itching: if no one cared, what was the point? He finally decided that he still had something to offer. He could help people, make a difference in their lives like when he'd been Frank Sawyer's deputy. And maybe help himself along the way as well. There must have been a reason why he'd survived the war and the prison camp and all these hardscrabble years.

In the back of his mind was the letter. Buried deep in his bags, the bible was one of the few things he'd brought from his mother's cabin. In the bible was the letter. As his grief over her passing began to ease a bit, his curiosity about the man who'd written the letter grew. After some time in Corning, he'd decided there was no reason not to look.

Growing up, he'd hated his father. And mostly, he still did. For leaving his mother with a ruined reputation, a child on the way, and no obvious support or income. But the letter made it seem like maybe the man hadn't known Heath was coming. And since his mother had never told Heath a word about his father, it wasn't any big stretch to consider the idea that maybe she hadn't told 'Tom' about Heath's impending arrival either. And with nothing holding Heath in Corning—or anywhere else for that matter—he'd finally decided to head to Stockton and see what he could find. After all, he had nothing to lose.

He'd averaged better than twenty-five miles a day, but the race with the train had pushed his horse too far. The plucky little mare had been with him since his release from Carterson, and in the early days, it sometimes felt like she was all that stood between him and madness. A flat run across an unknown pasture at the end of a long day was no way to pay back her faithfulness. She would give all she had if Heath asked, but the headlong gallop across the countryside—for no other reason than to satisfy his own need to finally come out on top—had been foolish. She could have stepped in a hole, broken her leg, and sent them both flying. And there was always the strong possibility that crossing in front of the train would kill them. Just… _stupid_. He was glad to offer the train passengers a little entertainment, but he'd sure take it back if given the chance.

To rest his horse, he'd stopped early. They'd make town tomorrow, and he'd ask around, see if anyone remembered a man named Tom who'd been in town twenty-five years ago who might've once visited a hole-in-the-wall mining camp named Strawberry.

Just thinking about it made him roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the whole plan. Plumb loco.

His horse pawing the ground pulled his attention from the fire, and he stood up to look around. She was a smart animal, and she frequently warned him of danger or visitors to his camp. He didn't see anyone in the vicinity, but she was clearly agitated. As he turned back to check her, he heard a faint rumble and then felt the vibrations in his feet. As they got worse, he realized what was happening: an earthquake!

**BV**

As the shaking finally eased off, Nick's eyes flashed around the ranch buildings, worried not only about the structures but also his family and the hands. In the low evening light, he could see Silas and his mother outside the kitchen door looking at the back of the house. Ciego had turned out the horses from the barn and then followed them out, moving much faster than usual. Gene came tearing around the side of the house pulling Audra behind him. Jarrod… was on the train from Sacramento.

Most of the buildings seemed intact. No one was screaming or yelling. Of course, that didn't mean everything was all right; Nick needed to start making assignments.

"Mac! Everyone all right over there?"

A nod and a wave from his foreman, and Nick turned to the next. "Bo! Is everyone out of the bunkhouses?"

"We're fine, Nick!"

"Gene! Get over here! I need you!"

Nick began getting the men organized. Gene and Mac started listing where the hands were supposed to be. Once the lists were complete, men would be assigned to ride out and check that everyone had survived and look for damage, though most of that would have to wait till daylight tomorrow. More lists were made of people working in the winery and the orchards. And so on and so on.

Ciego had a couple of men rounding up horses, and Victoria, Audra, and Silas had pulled another few hands in to check the house.

Once everything was in motion, Nick turned his eyes toward Stockton. The town was crawling with rowdies, probably hired by the railroad. Confusion on top of chaos was never a good combination. And underneath all that was the knowledge that Jarrod was supposed to be on the train tonight. What happened to trains during an earthquake? Nick didn't know for sure, but he didn't like where his thoughts were running. And it was already practically dark.


	2. Chapter 2

SS2

Jarrod awoke and tried to move, but the pain that sliced through his shoulder literally took his breath. He started to fade away, and he blinked hard to clear his vision. Unfortunately, everything stayed dark, and he wasn't sure if night had completely fallen… or he had an injury to his eyes. Attempting to get his mind off the awful pain in his shoulder and the darkness surrounding him, he tried to remember what had happened.

In a flash, it all returned—the shaking, jarring earthquake—the car bouncing under him, his scotch sloshing on the table—the crash with thundering pandemonium growing in power as it reverberated through the train—suddenly tumbling out of control, trying to protect himself as he went flying head over heels—then… nothing. Waking up in darkness and pain.

"Sune? Sune? Can you hear me?"

No answer.

Jarrod tried to decide what to do. Wondered what he _could_ do. He tried to move again, and the pain in his shoulder put paid to that plan in less than a second. It was dark, and he couldn't get free. He thought he was lying on his belly, maybe buried in the debris of the car. It had been twilight before the crash, but he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. No telling what time it was now. They'd been a couple hours from town when the quake struck. He wondered about his family, friends, neighbors… the other people on the train.

"Sune?"

Still no answer.

**BV**

Heath pushed his horse faster. Even knowing she was worn out and that it was dark, he still had her loping toward the sound of the crash. During the quake, an ungodly, drawn-out sound had split the late evening, and Heath had known immediately that the train he'd raced that afternoon had jumped the tracks. And the terrible noise just seemed to go on and on while he killed the fire and threw his saddle and gear back on the horse.

As he topped the next ridge, he pulled to a stop without even realizing it. Below him in the moonlight, the cars had been reduced to piles of metal. For just that moment, he surveyed it from one end to the other, overwhelmed by the destruction, searching for... _anything_ to let him know someone was alive down there. At least the boiler hadn't exploded. He chucked his mare forward. She didn't much like the idea of getting closer, the harsh smells being unfamiliar. Or maybe she was just picking up on Heath's feelings—he didn't want to go down there either, knowing that people must have died suddenly and painfully and without being able to tell their loved ones good-bye. Like Heath. Thinking briefly of his mother, he just hoped she'd somehow known he was there. And that he loved her.

It was mostly dark as he approached the nearest car. From the looks of the wreckage, it was probably either the last or next to last car attached to the train. Slipping from the saddle, he tied his horse to what used to be a railing and peeked into an opening.

"Anyone in there?"

"Yes! Help me, please!" The man's voice sounded uncomfortable but alert.

"Just a second. Let me figure out how to get inside this thing."

The car lay on its side, and Heath moved along what used to be the roof. Finally, he came to a ripped opening large enough for him to slide through. "Mister? Where are you?"

A sigh of relief, "Here."

Heath headed toward the sound of the voice, crawling over debris that probably used to be furniture… table, chairs, divan. This must have been a private car belonging to a big company or someone rich. Right now, it was just scrap, and it was keeping Heath from finding the only person he'd heard so far. "Can you see me?"

"No, but I can't see anything. Can't move either. Something must be on top of me."

The voice was close, and Heath started carefully lifting the wreckage to check underneath. Finally, he lifted the remains of a velvet sofa and found the man. "There you are."

"Thank God. I was beginning to wonder what I was going to do."

"Are you hurt?"

"My right shoulder. It's out of joint or something. I can't move it."

Heath felt along the man's arm, chest, and neck. The shoulder was clearly dislocated. The man was going to be plenty uncomfortable when he moved. "You're right, it's out of place. We need to get you out of here for me to fix it. It's gonna hurt something fierce."

"I figured that. Just do it. Whatever I say or do, just get it done."

Heath took a moment to admire the man. Rich or not, he didn't ask for special treatment. "Just hang on a minute. I'm gonna clear off the rest of this junk and make a path." Heath proceeded to remove the rest of the destroyed furniture off the man and then looked for the nearest exit. In a few minutes, he'd cleared a path to another opening. "Well, I'm ready if you are."

"I'm not sure I'll ever be ready, but let's do this."

"Here we go."

Heath lifted the man's uninjured left arm. The man pulled his legs under him and attempted to help, but once Heath started pulling, the pain in his shoulder literally took the man's breath. He tried to stay alert, but in seconds, he'd passed out cold. Which was for the best as far as Heath was concerned as it would be a whole lot easier to move him. Heath slipped his arm around the man's chest and practically carried him to the opening. He turned sideways and slipped through, bringing his new friend out behind him. Once outside, he pulled the man over his shoulder and walked him about a hundred yards away from the train. He laid him down and glanced at the face lit by moonlight.

He was a little older than Heath, maybe thirty, with dark hair. He was fit and dressed in what used to be a nice suit. Heath checked the shoulder and after a few seconds to get the right position and leverage, he slipped it back where it belonged.

Heath jogged back to his horse and brought her along. He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out his extra shirt. In short order, he fashioned a sling for the man's arm. Satisfied he'd done his best for the time being, he gathered up some wood and started a fire.

A glance back at the train, and he knew he had more searching to do. This man was alive; others might be as well.


	3. Chapter 3

SS3

Jarrod slowly came back to himself. His shoulder felt like it had been pulled apart and pasted back together, but it was vastly improved from before. He opened his eyes and found the dark night close around him. On his right side, a bright fire blazed, and he noticed a shadow moving. "Who's there?"

"Mr. Barkley? You awake?"

"Sune? Is that you?" Jarrod was beyond relieved to see the man who kept up the Barkley train car. Jarrod had been worried when Sune didn't answer after the earthquake.

"Yes. Nice Man find me trapped in car; he pull me out." Sune offered Jarrod some water from a canteen.

Jarrod took a couple of swallows and pulled back. "Are you all right, Sune?"

"Hit head. No problem. You hurt shoulder. Nice Man fix."

Jarrod glanced down at his shoulder and found his arm in a sling. He didn't recognize the material, but at this point, he was just grateful for the assist of 'Nice Man.' "Where is he now?"

Sune hesitantly glanced back towards the train. "Look for more people."

Jarrod's eyes followed Sune's gaze to where the outline of the train was visible in the shadows of the fire and the full moon. Now that Jarrod had a minute, he could hear the occasional moans and calls of other passengers. "We have to help him."

"No, Mr. Barkley. Nice Man say, 'No.' You hurt shoulder; Sune hurt head. Nice Man say to wait by fire."

Jarrod was about to argue when he noticed 'Nice Man' coming back. Behind him, he pulled his horse with someone on its back.

"You're awake. How ya feeling?"

Jarrod eyed the man as he became visible in the light of the fire. He hadn't been able to see him in the dark train car. "I'm all right. Who do we have here?" He watched as the man helped a lady holding a child off his horse.

"This lady and her little fella were stuck, but I think they'll be all right. Sune, can you help them?"

Sune hurried to assist the woman and her little boy who appeared to be three or four years old. Jarrod thought he saw some cuts and bruises. Her dress was torn and in disarray, but she was moving pretty well. The little boy clung to her and didn't appear likely to let go any time soon.

'Nice Man' came over to see Jarrod. "How's that shoulder?"

Jarrod tried a small shrug, but that small movement made him gasp. "Uncomfortable."

A small smile was his reward. "I'll bet. It's gonna hurt for a while, and you need to keep it still if you can."

Jarrod nodded briefly, "We need to search for other survivors. There were a lot of people on that train." He flashed back to his journey through the cars while he'd been watching a cowboy on the horse… "Wait a minute; you were on the horse!"

The grin this time was wry. "Yeah, that was me."

Jarrod couldn't help his own smile. "You won me a bit of money on that race."

"Well, glad I could help someone out." He sounded displeased with himself.

"Jarrod Barkley."

"Heath. Thomson."

"Thank you for digging Sune and me out of the train. I owe you."

"Nah, don't worry about it."

"We need to search those cars."

"You need to take care of that shoulder." He glanced over to where Sune was caring for the lady and child. "And someone's gonna have to look after these people. I expect there's a lot of folks hurt worse than you." He looked back to Jarrod. "If you're up to it, I'd be grateful if you'd kinda take charge."

Jarrod looked at the lady who seemed to be stunned and in shock. Heath was right; they would need someone to coordinate care of the wounded. And with his shoulder immobilized, maybe that would be the best use of Jarrod's time and abilities. "I'll take care of it."

Heath nodded. "Sune, Mr. Barkley's gonna be in charge here at the fire. If you'll come with me, maybe you could scrounge some material for bandages in the luggage."

Sune and Heath assisted Jarrod to his feet. His head swam for a minute before his shoulder settled down again. "I'm all right. Go ahead." He walked over to the woman and her son.

Jarrod watched as Heath pulled his horse back to the train, Sune following in his wake. He glanced around, wondering how long they would be out here and when help would arrive. Prior experience with earthquakes told him it might be a while—or never. In an emergency, people first took care of problems close to home, and there wasn't anything out here but this train. Folks might not even know the train was off the tracks. And if the damage in town was worse, it might be a couple days before anyone came to check.

Then Jarrod thought of his family at the ranch. They would have been looking for the train to arrive in Stockton. Nick would send men out… if he could. If _they_ were all right. For all Jarrod knew, the ranch had been destroyed and his family with it. He took a moment to send up a silent prayer for their safety. Then he looked back at the woman and her child. It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

SS4

As dawn finally reached the wreckage, Jarrod tried to wipe the fatigue from his eyes. It had been a nightmare, but hopefully, it would eventually end at some point today when and if help arrived. The passage of time could only be noted by checking the moon as it crossed the sky and by the number of people Heath Thomson pulled from the train. Jarrod had divided them into four major groups.

The first group were the walking wounded, people like himself and Sune. Folks who, once tended to, were able to assist in taking care of others. The second group were people who had more serious wounds but would hopefully live. These included broken bones and some head wounds. The third group were people who were critically injured. Internal bleeding, severe problems breathing, and traumatic amputations were just some of the issues Jarrod and Sune and the other walking wounded had no hope of fixing. He knew memories of these people would linger in his mind for the rest of his life. And the fourth group were off to one side out of the immediate light of the campfires. These were the dead, and Heath Thomson and another man covered their faces with whatever was available.

Jarrod tried not to let those who were or would soon be deceased hold his attention very long. Surprisingly, it wasn't difficult to concentrate on his other duties. There were nearly a hundred people on that train, and approximately seventy were still alive and needing help. Several men were responsible for tending fires and also for finding receptacles for water and then fetching it from a nearby stream. A few people looked for luggage and then made bandages from whatever clothes were available. Another group were the ones who tried to assist the wounded—both those who could be helped and those who likely could not.

And through it all, Heath Thomson and his horse pulled more people and bodies from the wreckage. Over and over he climbed into the train and came back with someone else. Eventually, he had taken torches inside to help find people as he moved the debris out of the way. Throughout the night, screams had erupted as he was forced to move people who were conscious, and each time Jarrod shuddered, thinking how difficult the act must be, regardless of the necessity.

As the sky finally began to lighten in the east, Jarrod hoped it would herald the arrival of assistance—if not from his own family, then from anyone who was missing the train. He looked across the landscape and tried to measure the toll in lives. He counted seventeen bodies including Jacob Crown, the railroad's attorney. The seriously injured who likely would not survive was fifteen. And the rest were muddling through as best they could.

When the sun finally broached the horizon, Jarrod was able to see the full scope of the disaster. The train was a drawn-out pile of iron, the engine hardly recognizable. The damage had been much worse at the front of the train as the engine had been the first car off the tracks. The intensity of the damage decreased as his eyes traveled along the length of the train. That was really the only reason Jarrod could think why he and Sune were still alive. Why the two of them had survived while Jacob Crown did not was unknowable.

He glanced away from the train as he saw Heath Thomson walk slowly across the plain, pulling his horse behind him, yet another body hanging across the saddle. Jarrod finally had a chance to see the young man clearly, and what struck him most was exhaustion. He was well built, about Jarrod's size or slightly bigger with light hair and features. His shirt and pants were bloody from people he'd helped, and the fabric was ripped in places where he'd been climbing in and out of jagged holes. He stopped at the gathering of dead and slowly pulled the body from his horse—the same horse that had given the whole train such a good show late yesterday afternoon. And now he and his rider were providing this last necessary service for some of the people who'd cheered them on.

Jarrod took a deep breath and walked over to Heath as he and another man pulled out a skirt from the pile of clothing and covered the dead man's face.

Jarrod kept his voice quiet out of respect for the dead. "How are you two doing?"

From Heath, there was no immediate response. The other man looked up, "All right. Better than these poor souls anyway."

Jarrod gazed back gratefully. "Thank you for helping. I'm Jarrod Barkley."

He nodded a greeting. "Walt Doyle. Sorry to make your acquaintance like this."

Jarrod bobbed his head in return. "As am I." He turned back to Thomson. "Heath?"

His rescuer finally looked up. "Don't know how many people were on the train. No one's calling out anymore, so whoever's left in there is either still out cold or already dead. I don't know when to stop looking."

Jarrod eyed the wreckage again. When to stop indeed? It had to be a scene straight from Hades in there. Yet this man had gone in again and again to pull people out. If Jarrod hadn't been awake, he might still be stuck since he'd been buried by the debris.

Regardless, "Why don't you take a short break? Come have some water."

Heath had been staring at the bodies, but he blinked at the suggestion and glanced at Jarrod. "I should go back."

"As you said, whoever's still in there is either unconscious or already gone. They're not going to disappear if you don't go back right this minute."

Thomson stretched his back slightly and glanced at the remains of what had once been a train. Then he nodded and pulled his horse along as he followed Jarrod over to their original fire.

Sune handed the two of them a tin cup of water as they crouched down near the warmth.

"How are you holding up, Heath?"

"Getting along, Mr. Barkley."

"We're way beyond formalities, Heath; I'm Jarrod. You've had a long night."

"Reckon we all have. Least I ain't hurt. Ain't like them poor folks over yonder."

"That's true for all of us. Of course, many people, including me, have you to thank for that."

"I don't cotton to letting more people head to their grave early if I can stop it. I've seen more death than I care to remember. The War taught me about living and dying real quick."

Jarrod was surprised to hear him mention the war. He looked too young for that, but Jarrod knew of several instances when soldiers were underage. Recruiters hadn't been too picky after '63. It was certainly possible this young man had been in battle. "Which side?"

"Union. '64 to the end."

"Where?"

"Tennessee mostly."

"My brother served primarily in Tennessee."

"There was a passel of us. You?"

"I got around. Started with the Army of the Potomac but got to Tennessee in '63. Ended up on Sherman's staff from mid '64 to the end."

"Hard fighting."

"For all of us."

Heath took a deep breath. "Yeah." He glanced at the wounded around the other campfires. "Help coming, you think?"

"I imagine so. The train is overdue by more than twelve hours. If Stockton was able to send out any telegrams, they've got to know by now that we were definitely en route. Assuming there's anyone still there, I think they'll send a search party."

"We're about three hours from there on horseback."

"We've made it this long; we can make it till they get here."

Heath glanced back at the deceased. "Now that it's light, we might ought to figure out who everybody is and who they was with. Get a passenger list together, so we can see how many are still missing."

"That's a good idea. I'll get it started."

The young man stood to go. Sune appeared at his elbow to take the cup. "Thank you, Sune. You've done powerful good work tonight. I appreciate it."

Sune bowed. "Pleased to help."

Jarrod watched as Heath went back to his horse and started towards the train. Unusual that he'd treat Sune with respect. Not many men did these days. Anti-Chinese sentiment was increasing, much of it encouraged by men from California as politics demanded that someone be blamed for low wages and poor morals. To hold the entire Chinese population solely responsible was bigoted, and Jarrod did not agree with those views in the slightest. Sune had worked for the Barkley family for years, and Jarrod had made many acquaintances in the Chinese community since returning from the war. There were numerous honorable Chinese that did not deserve the stereotyping. And while Jarrod conceded that there were Chinese that had influenced both wages and morals, there were _many_ groups of people that had a hand in those problems.

Looking at Heath Thomson, if his clothing, horse, and diction were indicators, Jarrod figured he had a working man's background with minimal education. Most men of that standing were against further Chinese immigration and generally had negative relations with them. Yet Heath spoke to Sune as an equal, and Sune returned the same respect… which he didn't always do. Jarrod had known his employee long enough to be able to detect true esteem as opposed to a façade of genuflection that he reserved for people who treated him as less than a man. Society dictated that Sune kowtow to his 'betters', but there was _respect_ and then there was well-masked _contempt_. Seeing the genuine honor that Sune gave Heath Thomson, the young man rose another notch in Jarrod's already high estimation.

Notes: So, for those wondering about Crown, there you have it.

And for those of us who are nerds about the Civil War, I based Jarrod's short explanation of his service on Orlando Poe who managed to serve both McClellan and Sherman. He was totally screwed by Congress over promotion because he was a McClellan man when he served in the Army of the Potomac, and he ended up as a captain again (his rank in the regular army) when he came to serve in Knoxville (he'd been breveted Brigadier General but Congress would not confirm the appointment.) However, he did not let his disappointment keep him from doing his best to serve his country. He was the engineer responsible for the fortifications here in Knoxville during our small battle. Based on the good work he did here, Sherman appointed him to chief engineer on his staff. He served there through the end of the war. After the war he built lighthouses on the Great Lakes. He also served on Sherman's staff when he was Commanding General of the Army. Finally, he designed and built the original Poe Lock at Sault Ste. Marie. I realize Jarrod wasn't an engineer, but I've always loved the story of Poe's service.


	5. Chapter 5

SS5

The sun had been up a couple of hours when Nick topped the rise and finally beheld the remains of the train. Seeing its utter destruction, his heart began beating wildly in concern for Jarrod. His gaze jerked over as Gene rode up.

His brother gasped at the train's ruin, "Nick?"

Surveying the pile of debris again, Nick shook his head grimly without even realizing it. "I don't know, kid. I don't know." He looked back at the rest of the men who'd come with them. About half were people Nick knew. Many of them had folks on the train just like Nick and Gene, but the other half were men who'd just been hanging around town. With the recent unrest related to the Coastal and Western, Nick worried about the increasing numbers of unattached men in town. The Stockton sheriff had told him that they were a rowdy bunch that caused a lot of trouble in the saloons, theaters, and cathouses. Nick suspected that most of them worked for C & W, but that didn't mean they couldn't help out after the quake. He'd just have to keep an eye on them.

As everyone got a look at the wreckage, a stillness descended over the group. Nick glanced at them. "I see people moving around down there, so there are survivors. They need help, and that's why we're here. I know we've probably lost some folks, but let's just get down there and see what's what. Help who we can." He looked at all of them one more time, Gene last of all, hoping the two of _them_ hadn't lost someone. "They've been alone long enough."

He urged Coco down the hill, seeing some of the survivors waving. That gave him hope that Jarrod was among them.

Once he got to the wreckage, he glanced around quickly as folks began to gather. Well, some gathered… others just sat in shock, not seeming to notice anything. Nick searched the faces with increasing concern when he didn't see Jarrod. Gene had the same distressed, searching look on his face.

"Mr. Barkley! Mr. Barkley!"

Nick jerked his attention in the direction of the call. "Sune!"

The Celestial attendant who'd had charge of the Barkley train car hurried toward him.

Nick was so pleased to see Sune he almost hugged him. "Sune, you ugly Mandarin! Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mr. Barkley. Am well."

Gene crowded close beside them. "Sune, where's Jarrod? Is he—?"

Sune bowed to them as he backed away in another direction. "This way, please."

Nick followed willingly, and his gaze searched ahead till he found his brother's form bent over a piece of paper as he spoke quietly to a man standing beside him. "Jarrod?"

His brother looked up, and his features melted in relief. "Nick, Gene. I sure am glad to see you two. I'm sorry; I didn't hear you ride up. It's been a long night."

Nick started to wrap his older brother in a hug when he noticed the sling holding his right arm. Instead, Nick squeezed his other arm and wrapped a hand around his neck, looking carefully into his brother's eyes. "Are you all right?"

Jarrod managed a one arm hug for Gene and then eyed his arm briefly. "Twisted up my shoulder, but considering everything else, I'm fine."

Nick decided after a careful examination of his brother's tired, shadowed face that Jarrod was being truthful. He was all right or would be eventually. Nick glanced around at the carnage and eyed the line of bodies at the edge of the gathering. "Looks like you were lucky."

Gene still looked concerned. "How'd you get out of that mess?"

Jarrod pursed his lips as he gazed at Gene fondly. "Let me introduce you." He stepped back to the man he'd been speaking to as they walked up. "Nick, Gene, this is Heath Thomson. Heath, my brothers have finally arrived."

Nick eyed the man. Probably a line rider if he was any judge. Right now, he was scruffy, smudged, and a little bloody with a torn shirt and ragged weariness all over him. He gave a brief nod in return.

Jarrod continued, "Heath rescued almost every person out here from that train. I was the first one he found, and he tended my shoulder as well."

Nick took another look; maybe there was more to this fellow than met the eye. "We're obliged."

Thomson glanced back at the remains of the train. "Anyone woulda done the same."

Jarrod followed his gaze. "I'm not so sure of that, Heath."

He shook his head shortly. "'Sides, you're just as responsible for these folks as me. I pulled 'em out, then dumped 'em on you to take care of."

That resulted in a small smile from Pappy. "Well, I guess we can say we did it together. How about that?"

Thomson shrugged, "I'm gonna go take another look. There's still at least…"

"Two. At least two."

He nodded once and picked up the reins of a tired mare waiting patiently nearby. They headed back toward the train.

The three brothers watched him walk away. Gene glanced at Jarrod, "Two what?"

Jarrod let out a sigh. "Two more people missing. That we know of."

Nick glanced around the area. "You seem to have this pretty well in hand, Jarrod. What do you want us to do?"

"Actually, Nick, if you could be my mouthpiece, I'd appreciate it."

"What?"

"It's been a long night, and I've about talked myself hoarse. With all these men you brought to help, we can get everyone organized to get to town. I just don't know that I can make myself heard after being at it all night. You've got a voice that carries."

And so Nick got the men from town organized into groups who would take the wounded back to Stockton. The more seriously injured would either ride horseback or in one of the three wagons they'd brought with them. A few would be staying on with the survivors who could not presently be moved, and others were detailed to help Heath Thomson search the rest of the wreckage for the people still missing.

In an hour or so, most of the wounded were ready to go, and Nick looked over at Jarrod who stared at the train in concern. "What?"

"I don't want to leave without speaking to Heath again."

Nick and Gene followed his gaze. Thomson had been back one time since their initial meeting to get an update on progress and to report he'd not found anyone else. But that had been maybe half an hour earlier, and he'd returned to the train to continue the search.

Gene eyed their older brother. "You want to go down there and find him, let him know we're heading back?"

Jarrod looked back at them. "Yes."

Nick nodded quickly. If that's what it took to get Jarrod started home, then that's what they'd do. Jarrod was clearly exhausted, and his shoulder needed tending by a doctor, but if he was going to fret the whole way, then it was easier to just get all his questions settled before they left.

Nick, Gene, and Sune followed Jarrod to the train till they found the little mare that had been trailing Thomson. She was standing outside one of the passenger cars as her master evidently poked around inside.

"Heath? You in there?"

The answer was faint and brought a couple of heads out of the car—other men who were now also searching. In a few seconds, Heath got back to the opening that had been torn in the roof of the car. "Y'all heading out?"

Jarrod nodded. He looked back toward the campfires. "The wounded who can't be moved—there's about twelve—they're still up there with a few men from town till we can get more wagons out here. Hopefully, that'll be this afternoon. And the bodies are still here."

Thomson nodded briefly but didn't answer.

"Heath, I don't know what to say. Thank you seems so inadequate."

He shrugged slightly, "Thank yourself, Mr. Barkley. I just brought 'em out."

"It's Jarrod, Heath. We've been through too much to be stuck on last names."

That got a small, crooked grin on one side. "I'll work on that. Good meeting you."

"And you, my friend. Will I see you in Stockton?"

"Reckon I'll get there eventually."

"Look me up. Our ranch is outside of town. Anyone can give you directions. And if my law office is still standing, you can always come there."

Heath nodded. "I'll do that. Take care."

Jarrod turned back to his brothers. "Well, I guess we can go now. Sune, are you ready?"

Nick watched as the Mandarin bowed to Jarrod. "Mr. Barkley, please to stay and help Nice Man?"

_Who the heck was_ _'Nice Man?'_ Nick looked back at his Jarrod, noticing Gene had the same confused look on his face that Nick probably had.

Jarrod smiled, "I'd appreciate it if you would. Please make sure he gets to Stockton all right and finds me when he gets there."

Sune bowed again, a wide grin on his face. He turned and shuffled back up the hill to the wounded.

Gene smiled. "Is that Thomson fellow the 'Nice Man'?"

Jarrod's grin was fond. "Yes. There's something about him, Gene. Something different. And I only hope I get to know him well enough to find out what it is."

Nick turned his eyes back to the boy's mare. There might be something different, but it struck him as odd that a saddle tramp just happened to be on the scene. Where was he going? And why? How did he come to be here just when the train derailed? Sure, he'd helped a lot of people tonight, but he seemed unlike most chuck-line riders. What was a cow hand doing roaming around in the middle of the season like this? He ought to be attached to an outfit already, yet he just _happened_ to be in the area of this train accident? Just now when the railroad was gathering men in Stockton? Didn't seem like a coincidence to Nick, and he decided he'd get a little more information on this Thomson fellow if and when he showed up in town.


	6. Chapter 6

Jarrod trudged into Stockton with his brothers. They'd both encouraged him to ride, but he knew if he walked then someone else would be able to ride and wouldn't still be waiting by the train. Compared to most of these people, Jarrod's shoulder was a minor issue. And now that they were in Stockton, he imagined he'd see nearly as many serious wounds as he'd seen last night.

Looking along the main road in town, he could see damage here and there. Signs down, windows broken, a few buildings with structural damage, but overall, it could have been worse. Worn to the bone, he knew he couldn't go much farther, but he also knew that he shouldn't just find a perch and sink. So as Nick and Gene and the other men led their horses loaded with injured riders, Jarrod followed along.

They came to a large set of tents just outside the main business district. Nick halted the group and called out for assistance as he helped the two people riding Coco. The various tents emitted help right and left, and soon the wounded were being carried and helped inside.

Gene came back to find Jarrod. "How you doing, Pappy?"

Jarrod let out a sigh as he leaned against a post and adjusted his sling. He glanced down and only then recognized it as a shirt that must have belonged to someone. After a second, he realized it must be Heath Thomson's spare. Jarrod had been the first person he'd pulled from the train, and he and Sune had scrounged for bandages in the luggage after that. He needed to remember to replace the shirt when he saw Heath again.

"Jarrod?"

He focused back on Gene. "I'm all right."

Nick's long strides were punctuated by jingly spurs. "Well, you don't look all right, and you sound downright whipped." He paused and softened, "You shouldn't have walked all that way, Jarrod."

Jarrod started to reply when the three of them heard their mother. "Nick? Gene?"

"Over here, Mother!"

Jarrod shook his head at the volume of Nick's call. He'd grown up with that resonance, but it still surprised him how easily he forgot when he was away for any length of time. At any rate, probably everyone in town now knew where Nick and Gene Barkley were.

"Nick? Did you find—?" She paused as Nick pulled Jarrod—by his good shoulder—out where she could see him. "Oh, Jarrod, thank heavens!" She rushed forward and hugged him, holding him as only his mother could.

Jarrod wrapped his good arm around her, reveling in the feel, smell, touch, sight, and sound of this one small woman who was the center of the Barkley world. They all had a place, and most of them had several, but she was the sun to their planets, and everything revolved around her.

"Oh, Jarrod, I was so worried when the train didn't arrive. We just didn't know…" Her eyes teared up as she pulled back to look at him again. She caressed his cheek, and he turned into the touch, glorying in it. How close he'd come to never being here.

"You're hurt! Oh, Jarrod—"

He summoned the energy for a smile. "Not bad, I promise. Most of the other passengers came out much worse than me. I'll be fine."

Her warm gray eyes searched his face carefully and apparently decided he was telling the truth.

Audra pushed in for a hug. "Jarrod, we were so worried."

"Don't fuss, little sister. I'm all right." She looked a bit tired and frazzled, but otherwise, his family seemed none the worse for wear except for him.

His mother took over again. "Let's get you some coffee and then have Dr. Merar check you out, and you can tell us what happened."

That sounded great. "Everything safe and sound at the house? I assume it is since everyone is here."

Nick perked up to listen to her answer too.

Audra grinned. "Everything seems to be all right. The house and the barns are still standing. One of the bunkhouses had a bit of damage, but for the most part, it's all fine. Once we get some new windows and replace a couple of frames, I think it'll be perfect again. At least that's what Mac said when I asked him this morning." She grinned at Nick. "I knew you'd ask, so I wanted to have the answer ready."

Nick pulled a face at her like he was upset that she knew him so well, but then, the two of them were cut from the same cloth. Both were smart, hard-working, spirited, and didn't know how to slow down. And they both had hearts made of pure gold. Jarrod was a lucky man to have such a family.


	7. Chapter 7

Jarrod ended up on the sofa in his office. The building had been declared safe, and his mother insisted he get some rest. And truthfully, Jarrod didn't put up much of an argument. He was more tired than the last time Nick had dragged him out on a cattle drive, and his shoulder was throbbing which seemed to worsen the fatigue. Before he laid down, he reminded Gene to be on the lookout for Sune and Heath Thomson, and he finally shut his eyes.

When he next opened them, a check of the windows showed that he'd slept through till the following morning. A quick self-assessment let him know that his shoulder was still… well, not great, but he felt better overall. He could hear a lot of activity outside on the street and figured he should get moving. On the table was water and an apple, so after a quick wash, Jarrod grabbed his breakfast and made his way down to the street.

Once there, it looked like slightly organized chaos continued to reign. As Jarrod made his way back to the tents where he'd seen his family earlier, he saw that people were still being dug out of fallen buildings, and injured folks were being brought in from out of town to see the doctors in Stockton. There was a lot of running and yelling, multiple wagons and horses moving along the streets, and sounds of searching in the buildings as he passed.

Many of the men were strangers, and that fit with Nick's information about the new bunch of rowdies in town. Jarrod didn't like to assume they were hired muscle for Coastal & Western, but it would be naïve to think that all of them were just folks looking for a new start. And as he went along, he had to wonder if all the noise was due to the search for survivors… or looting.

When he reached the hospital tents, he'd hoped to find his family, but while Howard Merar was being helped by a number of women, Jarrod didn't know many of them. The sheriff's temporary headquarters was next door, and there he learned that Nick was heading a rescue team and that Gene was with him. He also heard that his mother and sister were at the orphanage on the edge of town. Though he knew he would probably end up working in the hospital due to his shoulder, he wanted to check in with his family. Sheriff Harry Lyman was able to tell him that the rest of the survivors from the train had arrived during the night. Unfortunately, he had no information on Heath Thomson.

The sleep had cleared Jarrod's head, and the long walk from the train had given him plenty of time to think. What Heath had done seemed even more impressive now. Jarrod knew how hard it was to help people who were dead or gravely injured, dealing with horrendous physical wounds. And for the people who were conscious, there was the added fact that moving them would almost certainly increase their pain. Even though Jarrod had been well back from the train, the screams and begging he'd heard was heart-rending; to know you were contributing to such agony would be difficult and horrifying. And that Heath, who appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties, did almost all of those rescues himself loomed large in Jarrod's estimation. Plus, there was also the information that Heath had served in the army during the War Between the States which would have either hardened him to such issues or made him more vulnerable to them. Jarrod knew that some former soldiers had not adjusted well after coming back from the war. Heavy drinking, terrible anger, and insanity were just a few of the problems he'd heard about. After what Heath Thomson had done at the train derailment, Jarrod desperately hoped the young man didn't also have to pay those dues.

Walking over to Nick's rescue team, Jarrod got a greater sense of the damage to the town. Some of the buildings were literally piles of rubble while others appeared to have held up pretty well. Jarrod was fairly certain that the design and building materials had more to do with a structure's survival than the severity of the quake.

Jarrod smiled as he heard Nick's voice ringing down the street. He would bet money his brother's men were the most productive in town. Nick was on the boardwalk directing them in clearing a building that used to be Turner's Boarding House and now appeared to be nothing more than a stack of kindling. Looking at the destroyed building—once a large, two-story house with seven or eight people living there—Jarrod desperately hoped no one was inside when it collapsed. But he didn't think that Nick and his team would waste time on a building that was empty.

"Jarrod, what are you doing here?"

Gene's call caught Nick's attention, and he turned to look at Jarrod. "Feeling better after your nap?"

Jarrod smiled at the tease in Nick's voice that didn't match the concern in his eyes. "I feel revived, boys, thank you." Looking at the building, "Making any progress?"

Nick examined the mess. "Getting there."

"How many?"

"Supposed to be five. Found one, but he's so busted up he probably won't make it."

"I heard the people we left at the train made it back."

They both nodded, and Nick answered. "Just after dawn this morning. Sune brought that Thomson fella here, and then headed over to the Chinese quarter to help."

Gene grinned, "Heath sure made an impression on Sune."

"I noticed. Did you put him to work?"

Gene looked around, and Nick lifted his chin toward the back of the house. Jarrod followed the gesture and saw Heath.

"Hard worker." Nick appeared to be studying him carefully, but the tone let Jarrod know that Nick at least respected the work ethic on display.

"Howard said Mother and Audra are at the orphanage; is there much damage there?"

Gene shook his head. "I walked them over. The damage on that end of town wasn't too bad, but the kids were pretty rattled."

Jarrod grinned, "I was pretty rattled myself, and—" He stopped when he first heard, then felt the rumble of an aftershock. The three of them shared a glance, and then Nick flew back to the remains of the boarding house to get his team out of the dangerous rubble while Gene pulled Jarrod into the middle of the street. The two of them hung on to each other as the world jumped under them. The men on the rescue team scrambled to escape what could easily become a coffin for them as well.

Jarrod watched as a pile of unstable material slid on to Nick. "Nick!" He and Gene tried to move that way, but suddenly, Jarrod found himself being pulled down as his younger brother lost his footing. "Gene!"

The shaking seemed to go on forever, but finally, the rumbling and jolting subsided and then faded off. Jarrod checked Gene and found him to be all right and then glanced over to where Nick had disappeared.

Already working on the pile was Heath Thomson. Jarrod felt an immediate surge of gratitude that Heath was all right and trying to help Nick. Despite—or maybe because of—the circumstances under which they'd met, Jarrod felt immeasurably better just seeing Heath toss the debris from where they'd last seen Nick.

And just before he and Gene got close enough to help, he saw the pile begin to move from the bottom as Nick started pushing up from below. "Nick? Are you all right?"

The answering growl didn't have its usual degree of ferocity. "Yeah, yeah, just get me outta here." Nick crawled out as Heath pulled away the last of the debris.

Heath stepped back. Jarrod let Gene take the lead as Nick stood up. There was a small trickle of blood on his forehead that Gene reached up to inspect. Nick pulled his head back indignantly, "What are you doing?"

"You're bleeding, Nick."

Nick looked dumbfounded at the news, "Oh."

He started to reach up himself, but Gene stopped him and pulled out a bandana, "Your hands are filthy. Don't touch it."

Nick looked mildly distrustful, but he let his younger brother start to clean him up.

Jarrod, seeing that everything was well in hand, turned back to Heath Thomson. "Thank you, Heath."

The young man nodded and started back on the pile. He kept working at it until he fished out Nick's hat. He whacked it against his leg a couple of times to knock off some of the dust, then handed it to Nick who evidently had not realized who'd rescued him. Nick glanced at the hat, then Heath, then back at the pile of debris. Nick seemed uncertain and a little suspicious. After a second or two, he nodded shortly and accepted his hat back.

Surprisingly, Heath didn't seem upset by the response. Or maybe he was just too tired to notice. Whichever it was, Jarrod was just glad that Nick's reaction hadn't offended Heath. Jarrod genuinely liked and appreciated the young man, and he shuddered to think where he might be if Heath hadn't shown up at the train derailment. And Jarrod could not understand what problem Nick might have with him.

But… Jarrod suddenly looked around. "We should check on Mother and Audra."

Nick and Gene glanced down the street anxiously. "Yeah. No telling what might have happened on that end of town."

Jarrod took charge, "Gene, you and Heath go. I'll see to Nick's head, and we'll be right behind you."

Nick started to protest, but Jarrod gave him the older brother look, certified to quell any objections.

Gene watched briefly for the outcome, and then he and Heath jogged off down the street.

"Jarrod—"

"Nick, sit." He pulled Gene's bandana from Nick's fingers and pushed him backward. "_Sit._"

Nick looked a bit rebellious, but he gave in and found a fairly smooth seat on the debris. Jarrod inspected the cut on his forehead and gently wiped the blood away. "What's your problem with Heath?"

The quick glance was proof enough for Jarrod despite Nick's muttered denial. "I don't have a problem with him."

Jarrod shook his head while staring at his younger brother. "When are you gonna learn that you can't lie to me?"

Nick sighed in frustration and then winced slightly as Jarrod wiped the cut again. "I just think it's kind of coincidental that he was out by that train, heading this way, just when all this mess with the railroad is coming to a head."

Jarrod chuffed a laugh. "Oh, come on, Nick. We were lucky he was there."

"Yeah, but what was he doing there in the first place?"

"Coming here, I suspect."

"I suspect too. You didn't see all the rowdies that were already in town before the earthquake. This place was crawling with 'em, like a mining camp, full of cutthroats and gunmen. I haven't let Mother and Audra come to town for a week."

Jarrod worked to tie the bandana around Nick's forehead, but it was hard with only one good arm. "If Heath's such a mercenary, why's he spending all his time helping people? Why'd he dig me out of a wrecked train and you out of a pile of scrap?"

Nick nodded with a wizened smirk as he adjusted the bandage on his head. "I been thinking on that. I believe it's so he can get close to us. To gain our trust so he can take information back to the railroad."

Jarrod hated to poke holes in his theory, but… "He could have just whacked me on the head when I was trapped on the train. Everyone would think the crash killed me. Then there would be one less lawyer and one less Barkley to worry about. He _could_ have just left you in this pile of debris."

"How better to get us to trust him than to save our lives? Huh? I think maybe he's a spy sent to infiltrate us."

Jarrod rolled his eyes and quit arguing. He'd deal with Nick's suspicions later. Right now, they needed to make sure Mother and Audra were all right.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: A great deal of the dialogue in the chapter is ripped right from the 'Earthquake' episode written by Oliver Crawford. That's all credited to him. (IMDB indicates this was the _only_ BV episode that he wrote.)

They didn't move quite as fast as usual or even as fast as the situation called for, not with Jarrod's bum shoulder and Nick likely nursing a headache. When they arrived at the orphanage, Gene was holding an almost hysterical Audra by the shoulders. Heath stood close, looking bewildered at her behavior.

"Gene, she went to the chapel! There's no reason to search here!"

Nick strode up, "What's going on? Where's Mother?"

Audra shook off Gene's hands and tried unsuccessfully to calm down, "I'm trying to explain that Mother was cleaning inside the church. The children are all accounted for. We need to look over there! We need to go! I want to find Mother!"

Jarrod looked in horror toward the chapel where debris had fallen all around the front door. Gene sprinted in that direction with Heath close on his heels, Audra right behind, and Nick and Jarrod hurrying to catch up. Jarrod brought up the rear and almost collided with Nick when he stopped abruptly.

They were all collected right inside the door because the inside of the church was a disaster with fallen columns and ceiling beams. Jarrod couldn't discern pews from altar. In front of them, Father Nichols was poking through the rubble, seemingly shocked by the destruction.

"Padre? Was my mother in here?" Gene sounded horrified.

The priest turned at the question, apparently just noticing they were there. "Uh… your mother?"

Jarrod needed to step in and take charge; his youngest brother and sister were terrified. He pushed to the front. "Yes. Mrs. Barkley. Was she still in the church?"

The priest looked around vaguely at the damage, "Mrs. Barkley? Oh, yes. She _was_ here… cleaning up the altar. But I'm sure she got out."

Given the man's obvious shock, Jarrod was not convinced. "You're certain?"

Still dazed, Father Nichols looked back at what was once a quiet place of worship. "Uh, let's see. Mrs. Barkley was up front, and there was a younger man. Oh, and a young Modoc woman. Pregnant." He turned back to the Barkleys. "But I'm sure they got out. They must have."

"Did you _see_ them after the quake?"

"I'd… I'd just brought up some plaster from the cellar. To make repairs at the orphanage. And they were inside. And… I don't remember. But they _must've_ gotten out."

Not at all reassured, Jarrod glanced at Nick and found his own fears reflected back. Behind them, Gene was clearly upset, and Audra close to panic. Heath stood in the back, his face worried and sympathetic, and just inside the door stood a local storekeeper, Ralph Snyder.

Gene was trying to stay calm, "What if she didn't get out? Where is she? Why isn't she calling out?"

Jarrod glanced back at the padre, "Well?"

Father Nichols glanced back to where the altar used to be. "The door to the cellar was in the corner. But with all the debris, we can't even see that door. I suppose, though, that if the floor collapsed, they might have ended up down below."

Nick glanced around, "Let's get some dynamite to blow all this rubble."

Seizing on the idea for a quick solution, Jarrod nodded and turned to herd everybody back outside, but he saw Heath shaking his head as he inspected the interior of the building uneasily. "What, Heath?"

"I don't think dynamite's a good idea in here."

"Why not?" Nick demanded, irritated and confrontational.

Heath pointed, "You only got two columns holding up the rest of this ceiling." His finger traced a line through the destruction, "And that crossbeam there, it's holding up that joist which is bracing that wall. An explosion could bring the rest of this down in a heartbeat."

Jarrod followed Heath's explanation and finally saw how fragile the whole building was. They might well have literally buried their mother if they'd followed the original plan.

Nick evidently saw the wisdom as well and blew out a hard breath. "Then we _dig._"

**BV**

Jarrod had never felt so useless. He glanced down resentfully at the arm still tied up in a sling that used to be Heath's spare shirt. Around him, his brothers, Heath, and three other men were using shovels and picks to dig the debris out of the church. As it turned out, Heath had some experience in mining, so he knew about excavation.

Despite her fear for their mother, Jarrod had refused to allow Audra to stay inside the unstable building. He'd sent her to help with the wounded and the children. But, God bless her, she kept coming back. He smiled reprovingly as she came in with a pail of water and a dipper.

"How's it going, Jarrod? Any progress?"

He took a sip of water from the bucket. "Some. There's a lot of rubble to clear before we'll even get close to the altar."

"Jarrod, I… I have some terrible news."

He turned to see her fighting back tears. "What is it, honey?"

"They— They found the sheriff's body a little while ago."

Jarrod closed his eyes in regret. Harry Lyman had been the law in Stockton for several years. He was a good man and a capable sheriff. "What happened?"

"A beam fell on him at the livery."

Jarrod took a moment to grieve for a good lawman and friend, then mentally ran through the deputies to try and figure out who'd be a decent replacement. They all seemed pretty green to him. If only Fred Madden hadn't left town a while back, he'd be perfect. "Has anyone stepped up?"

"Well… not anyone local, but—"

"Who is it?"

"There's another man who's taken charge of some of the men who've been roaming around town lately. Ann Snyder said his name is Wallant. I heard someone call him 'General.'"

"From the war?"

Audra shrugged helplessly. "I didn't ask."

Jarrod smiled softly in apology. "Of course, honey. Why don't you take Nick and Gene some water?" He watched her pick her way through the rubble as he considered the information. Wallant… that name took Jarrod back a few years, but he well remembered the reputation of General James Wallant. Early in the War of the Rebellion, the Union had difficulty finding leaders that could both inspire men and direct an army. James Wallant had been the exception, and he'd brought off several victories at a time when they'd been in very short supply. Until his defeat at Powder Ridge in '62, he'd never left the field as anything less than the victor. And on that occasion, he was seriously wounded while directing his men in retreat. Sadly, he was not able to return to command, and the Union had to wait a little longer to find the leader who could both motivate men and lead them to victory: Ulysses S. Grant. If James Wallant was in town, those rowdies Nick had been so worried about would soon be marching to a different tune.

Audra hadn't been gone from the church long when Heath dug out a rock and carried it over to the window for inspection. Jarrod watched as he cleaned it off and examined it a little closer. "What is it, Heath?"

"Look at this rock, Jarrod."

"What about it?"

"There's some old tracings in it. Was there ever a mine here?"

Nick and Gene had been sawing into a fallen beam and stopped to listen. Gene looked blank, but Nick stared at Jarrod as they both thought back. Nick nodded faintly, "This church _was_ built over an old shaft after it was worked out."

Jarrod nodded slightly, "Yeah, the family had an interest in it."

Heath got excited, "You remember where the openings are?"

Nick swiped his forehead in frustration as Jarrod shook his head, "No, it's over twenty years ago. I don't remember much about it."

Heath thought briefly, "Well, there must be deeds, records, or _something_. They would show the openings."

Nick looked at Jarrod, "Where would the records be?"

"Well, they should be down at the Recorder's Office." Jarrod glanced at Nick and Gene with something like hope. "I'll go look."

Heath nodded and picked up his shovel again as Jarrod turned to leave.

Ralph Snyder, the storekeeper, tossed aside his pick and followed Jarrod. "You'll need help. I'll go with you."

Jarrod didn't think he would need assistance, but maybe Snyder wasn't used to this kind of heavy physical labor. Regardless, Jarrod supposed the man deserved a break, so he said nothing.

As they pushed through the doors to the Recorder's Office, Snyder asked, "What was the name of the mine?"

Jarrod bit his lip briefly to keep his composure. "The_ Victoria._"

Snyder didn't even blink. Jarrod shook his head; it was possible that Snyder didn't know that the Mrs. Barkley he'd been working to find was the mine's namesake. Couldn't hold that against him.

He and Jarrod began searching through files. Sometime later, Jarrod was examining an old map of the region when he heard Snyder sigh. "It's no use."

"Keep looking." The short break in his concentration gave Jarrod another idea. "Snyder, is the Land Office building still standing?"

"I don't know; why?"

"There'd be records there."

"Why don't I go check? We'll save time that way."

Jarrod had already gone back to the map, "Hurry." He heard Snyder dump his papers and leave the room. A few minutes later, he was finally convinced. The mine records weren't in this office. Hoping that Snyder had found the information at the Land Records office, he hurried back to the church, anticipating that his brothers had made some headway.

Just as he walked inside the chapel, he heard a creak and glanced up just in time to see a dangerously leaning beam begin to fall. "Gene, look out!" Everyone working in the building took cover as a loud crash shook the place.

When the dust settled, Nick and the other men rushed with Jarrod to the youngest Barkley. Jarrod was fearful that, like the sheriff, Gene might be mortally wounded. "Gene!"

He heard a cough, "I think I'm all right, Jarrod."

Nick put his prodigious strength to work in shifting the heavy timbers off their youngest brother. "Mike! Joel! Brace this thing!"

In seconds, the heaviest of the fallen debris had been moved just enough, and Nick was scrambling through the rubble to drag Gene from the pile. Jarrod had never felt so inadequate, completely unable to help. Shortly, Gene was sitting on the edge of one of the beams as Nick briefly looked him over.

"You all right?"

Gene was covered in plaster dust and dirt, and he coughed a few times to clear his lungs. "Yeah." Cough. "Yeah, I think so." He glanced up at the even more precarious ceiling. "Let's go back to work."

Jarrod had never been so proud of his youngest brother. He patted his shoulder, raising a cloud of dust. "Why don't you take a couple minutes' rest, huh?"

Gene stifled another cough and nodded wearily.

Jarrod glanced around, "Where's Heath?"

Nick looked up, "A while after you and Snyder left, he asked about the Land Records office. I told him where it was, and he went to search it a few minutes before you came back."

"Yeah, I had the same idea. Snyder went to look."

Nick looked a little unsettled, "Why don't you go check on 'em?"

Jarrod shook his head slightly; Nick was still suspicious of Heath. "All right. I'll be back in a bit."

Jarrod stumbled down the street, holding his shoulder as still as he could. It was throbbing again, and he was starting to feel a little lightheaded. As he reached the building where the Land Records office was located, he heard Heath's voice raging in anger.

"Dropped it? You lit it!"

"Well, there's… there's nothing here; it's useless."

"You'd burn a whole building down to prove it? Why? _Why?_"

"You don't really know that Mrs. Barkley is buried underneath the church."

"And you don't know she isn't! Or what do you know?"

Jarrod rounded the doorway just as a fight broke out, Snyder trying to get away as Heath dragged him back. In seconds, Heath had the storekeeper pinned, "You want to answer? Come on! _Answer me!_"

Snyder was limp and pathetic when he finally whined, "There was an... an Indian girl at the church. She… she came into town to blackmail me. She said I was the father of her child. I couldn't have her waiting in the _store_. I told her to wait for me. At the church. You know how it is. You know how it is. Who knows who— who a kid like that would belong to?"

"You're talking to a kid like that!" Heath backhanded him, furious. "To keep your secret, you'd let people die?" Heath dragged him up and turned to the door, stopping short when he saw Jarrod.

Jarrod was livid. He stepped into the face of the miserable excuse for a man that was Ralph Snyder. "If my mother dies because of your lies, you won't be able to find a hole small enough to hide in." He nodded once to Heath who proceeded to throw Snyder through the door and then shove him down the hall.

**BV**

General James Wallant turned out to be a big man with a full head of white hair. "Have you gone out of your mind, Mr. Snyder? Violating your oath, destroying public property?"

Snyder hung his head in shame and offered no excuse.

Audra stared at him in horror. "How could you? With my mother down there?"

Wallant turned to the small attractive woman behind him. "I don't know what's gotten into your husband, Mrs. Snyder, but I'm short-handed now, and I'm putting him into your custody until this emergency is over."

She nodded briefly, clearly humiliated by her husband in more ways than one.

Audra yanked off her apron and threw it aside. "I'm going to the church." As if to make up for Snyder's lapse.

Jarrod nodded, and he and Heath followed Audra as she barreled down the street like a locomotive.


	9. Chapter 9

Note: again, a lot of the dialogue in the chapter is direct from the 'Earthquake!' episode written by Oliver Crawford so credit is due. Thanks again for reading – Q

**BV**

Another aftershock rocked the church causing a bit more plaster to fall, but mercifully, the remaining walls and ceiling held. Once the ground stopped moving, they all lifted their heads to check the status of the building.

Nick shoved off the wall and punched the air in frustration. "Blast it!"

Audra breathed out a short, desperate breath. "Mother's been down there for hours. There's gotta be a faster way."

Frustrated, Jarrod felt his own temper erupt. "Well, there isn't! Trying to reach that old wine cellar was a long shot! Searching for that mine deed was a long shot! Right now, it's a long shot that we'll ever—"

Heath called out, the voice of reason once again. "Wait a minute. Every mining operation I was in had _more_ than one opening. There's _always_ an opening for escape. I mean, it's out there. Somewhere. How long were the tunnels? A hundred yards, a mile?"

Jarrod had been wracking his brain, but he was just a kid when the mine closed. And it's not like he'd ever been allowed inside. "I don't know."

But Heath wouldn't give up. "All right, it was twenty years ago; now there's bound to be people around that were living then."

Once again, Jarrod caught a flicker of hope from his new friend. He stared at one of the men who'd been helping them dig. "Joel, you were around when my father worked that old mine."

A good man and a good friend, Joel Green stepped away from the wall, looking apologetic. "I wouldn't… I wouldn't even _remember_ that. I wouldn't even remember where to begin to _look._"

"Right, but there must be some old timers around that _would!_"

"Well, there's old Gus… no, he died last year. Hank Withers, he moved to Laredo. You just have to find _somebody—"_

Nick pushed through, "What about Jeb Wilson? Now, he's still out at the ranch. Of course, Jeb!" He slapped Gene on the shoulder, "Gene, you go out and get him."

Gene ran out the door like hounds were after him.

Jarrod stared at Nick, afraid to let hope get clear. They'd already had so many disappointments today.

But Nick wasn't one to hold back. "We're gonna need picks and shovels and dynamite when Jeb remembers where one of those openings are."

Jarrod couldn't stop the small grin that broke through at his irrepressible brother. Never-say-die Nick. Jarrod nodded briefly, "And I know just where to get those supplies. Ralph Snyder owes us."

**BV**

A couple hours later, Nick galloped the wagon into Little Canyon, and the team ran up on the flying horses of Gene and Jeb Wilson. Shortly, they pulled up at the foot of a long low ridge.

Gene ran up to the side of the wagon. "Jeb thinks it's here."

Nick and Heath were already pulling out shovels and picks. Jarrod climbed down from the wagon, jarring his shoulder, "Well, let's get to work." He turned and helped Audra out, and she went immediately to get a shovel of her own. Jarrod grabbed a pick. He could work a pick one-handed.

On the side of the hill, they started pushing through brush, not seeing anything promising right off. Nick looked over, "Jeb? What about it?"

Jarrod had known the fellow as long as he'd been alive. He'd gone from being a rock-solid oak who could do anything… to an old man who did what he could. Jeb rubbed his stubbly chin, trying to decide. "I _know_ it's around here someplace." He glanced around, then pointed. "Wait a minute!" He plunged through the underbrush further along the hill. He started poking his shovel at a large group of bushes. "Here! It's a timber! This is the shaft!"

Nick, Gene, and Heath attacked the brush like it was a dragon that needed slaying as Jarrod and Audra pulled the cut limbs and branches out of the way. In a few minutes, they'd uncovered the boarded-up opening. Jarrod glanced at Nick and then Heath. Heath had proven that he had experience in excavation. And despite the possible insult to Nick, Jarrod felt Heath would be the best person to blow the opening. "I'll get the dynamite."

Heath nodded, seemingly without a thought. When Jarrod returned with the sticks, Nick, Gene, and Heath had dug out a hole under the boarded-up shaft, and Nick and Heath both put the dynamite in and covered it up. Jarrod backed away, watching carefully. "Got it set? Audra, you and Jeb get out of here."

A caretaker at heart despite her recent wildcat reputation, Audra grabbed Jeb's hand and pulled him behind the wagon. Jarrod watched Nick light the fuse.

"Okay, let's go!" Nick and Gene dropped their tools and ran for cover. Jarrod noted off-handedly that Heath kept hold of his and grabbed up the rest as he left. Not really worried about whether Ralph Snyder got his inventory back, Jarrod started to tell him to leave them, but Heath was out before Jarrod could get it said.

The explosion shook the earth every bit as much as the quake. As soon as the dust started to settle, they ran back to the opening. Nick started pulling the now loose dirt out of the way with his bare hands… and suddenly, Jarrod saw the wisdom in Heath's move. The young man handed the tools back to Nick and Gene, and the three of them made quick work of the mounds of debris.

It took some effort for the five of them to crawl through the small opening. Gene and Nick took the lead as Heath helped Jarrod through. This stupid shoulder made him useless! At any rate, Nick tested the overhead braces as they made their way slowly through the tunnel. Every now and then, a small shower of dirt and pebbles would fall from the ceiling, and Jarrod really didn't like the thought of being buried alive should another quake occur. But remembering that his mother had been trapped in this darkness for hours pushed him on as it drove them all.

Shortly, Jarrod glimpsed a low light ahead. As they crept closer, Jarrod tried to make out what it was. He couldn't really see—

And then Audra sprinted forward. "Mother!" She collapsed in a hug around the small, beautiful woman who was the axis of their family.

A baby's cry interrupted the joyful reunion, and Jarrod belatedly saw the young Modoc woman lying beside Victoria. Heath was already checking her as Jarrod turned, and he caught Heath's glance and negative head shake. The young mother had evidently died giving birth. Jarrod shut his eyes in regret; perhaps she would have died anyway, but Jarrod couldn't help but think that Ralph Snyder's selfish actions had resulted in the poor woman's death.

Though she was clearly exhausted, Victoria insisted on walking through the tunnels despite offers from both Nick and Gene to be carried. Gene ended up carrying the baby, leaving Audra and Nick for Victoria in case she started to give out. Jarrod led the way, occasionally testing the ceiling with the pick, and Heath brought up the rear, carrying the young woman's body.

Back outside, Jeb Wilson whooped for joy at their emergence… until he saw Heath and his burden. But his sadness at the young mother's death was only momentary, and he quickly became the hero of the hour. After effusive gratitude and hugs from the ladies, he remounted his horse and headed back to the ranch.

The wagon moved back toward town at a more sedate pace than the suicidal speeds they'd taken to get to Little Canyon. As they traveled, Victoria informed them that Ephraim Tate was the other man in the chapel. He had been in the tunnels with them initially but had died in a cave in during one of the aftershocks. Nick shook his head briefly at the loss of a man who had been an excellent cowhand when he was sober. Audra and Gene looked briefly shocked at his death, but they had both been exposed to the loss of several acquaintances in the last few days.

Throughout the back and forth explanations and conversation, Heath sat quietly beside the young woman's body. He stared across the landscape without appearing to focus on anything. It seemed to Jarrod that Heath was taking her death particularly hard, but then he remembered the encounter with Ralph Snyder. Heath had been furious with the man when it became evident he was trying to squirm out of his responsibility and let other people die in the process. In his rage, Heath had revealed that he was also the product of an unsanctioned coupling. Of course he would feel empathy for both the woman and her fatherless child. And fierce anger at the spineless man who'd abandoned them.

"Heath, are you all right?" Jarrod laid his good hand on Heath's shoulder.

It seemed to pull Heath from his reverie. He nodded slightly with a quick glance, "Yeah."

"You're awfully quiet."

A faintly amused glance at the front of the wagon where Nick was in full throat, "Kinda hard to get a word in edgewise." He stared at the baby in Audra's arms, "That little one's gonna have a hard time. No father to begin with… and now she's lost her mother too. Least I had mine."

Jarrod considered the strong, tireless young man he'd come to know over the last couple of days, and he squeezed his shoulder gently. "I'm sure she's very proud of you."

Heath winced slightly and blinked rapidly several times. "I hope she was."

Jarrod felt his heart go out to Heath who seemed to be saying that his mother had died. Maybe that's why he'd fought so hard to help Jarrod and the rest of the Barkleys find Victoria. "I'm sorry, Heath."

He nodded again but didn't say anything else. He just went back to watching the landscape.

Jarrod looked back at his mother on the front seat. He couldn't remember ever being so scared… and so relieved when they finally found her alive. The fact that they had found her at all was almost directly because of Heath. Heath Thomson was a handy man to have around.


	10. Chapter 10

Once they got back to town and the doctor gave Victoria a quick look, he pronounced her exhausted but physically fine, and they were finally ready to head back to the ranch. Surprising them all, Ann Snyder wanted to raise the orphaned babe, and Jarrod's estimation of the petite young woman rose to soaring heights. Ralph Snyder ought to have more sense than to step out on a fine woman like that.

As they were climbing in the wagon to leave for the ranch, Jarrod looked around, wondering where Heath was. Over the last few days, he'd gotten used to having the quiet blond nearby. Even though it would delay the family's leaving, Jarrod went looking. A few minutes later, he found Heath standing by a group of bodies waiting to be buried.

"Heath?"

He glanced back as Jarrod walked up. "I just hate to leave her alone. No one to grieve. Her own people probably threw her out. And no one here cares."

"My mother does. And I imagine Ann Snyder does even if her cowardly husband doesn't."

Heath nodded briefly and swiped an arm along his forehead, shoving back his hat in the process. He looked worn out.

"What are your plans, Heath?"

He squared his hat again and turned back to Jarrod with a long sigh. "Before the quake and the train crash, I was heading here to Stockton to see if anyone knew who my father might've been. Right now, that don't seem real important. Probably never was. I guess I'll find another crew and start cleaning up more of this debris."

"Your father? But I thought… I mean, I heard you say…"

Heath quirked half of a wry smile. "I think his name was Tom, that he might have lived in Stockton at some point, and that he spent some time in Strawberry about twenty-five years ago. My mother had a letter posted from here."

Jarrod momentarily forgot to breathe. That might well describe his own father.

"Jarrod? You all right?"

He blinked and came back to himself. "What? Oh, of course."

"You're kinda pale. That shoulder's got to be paining you something fierce with all the jostling you've done it today. You ought to get some rest."

Despite the shock Heath's question had raised, Jarrod couldn't help but notice the fatigue on the face looking at him with concern. "Have you stopped at all since the train wreck?"

Heath's eyes slid away, and he scuffed his boots in the dirt.

"That's what I thought. We both need a little rest. Come on; you're coming with us back to the ranch."

"Jarrod—"

"I'm not taking no for an answer. Get your gear and your horse and come on." He tugged at Heath's arm.

Over-riding Heath's weak protests (which just showed how exhausted he really was), Jarrod pulled him over to where the family sat in the wagon.

"Where've you been? We've been waiting!" Nick demanded, of course.

"I went to find out where our guest had disappeared to." He gently shoved Heath in the direction of the livery where he'd likely stabled his mare.

Nick waited till he was out of earshot before he glared hard at Jarrod. "Our guest? I don't think this is a good idea, Jarrod."

Gene and Audra looked surprised at Nick's declaration while Victoria began to chide him on his poor hospitality.

Gene got in the first objection. "Nick, he worked all day to help us find Mother."

Audra piped up, "And he had the idea about the mine openings."

Nick managed an impatient nod, "I know that, but we don't know anything about him. He could be—" He bit off whatever he was about to say and lowered his voice, "I just don't think we ought to be taking strangers home with us. Not with the railroad mess about to—"

Victoria looked at Nick sympathetically. "I know you think it's your job to protect all of us, Nick, and that ability has been sorely tested over the last few days. But if that young man wanted to do us harm, he could have accomplished the very same thing by simply walking away. He didn't have to do anything to help us… but he did."

Jarrod purposely put out of his mind what Heath had said about his searching for his father. "Nick, he single-handedly saved my life, and he was instrumental in saving Mother's. Can't we at least give him the benefit of the doubt?"

Nick's irresistible need to protect was overwhelmed by his family's and probably even his own sense of justice. He finally rolled his eyes and nodded tersely.

Jarrod caught the amused glances of his mother and other siblings as Heath rode up to the wagon.

Nick shook his head once more and then gave his attention to the horses pulling the wagon. With a quick snap of the reins, the convoy of Gene and Heath on horseback was followed by the wagon with Nick's horse trailing along behind.

**BV**

Despite the jarring, Jarrod laid down in the wagon, his head in Audra's lap, and fell into a light doze. Images kept flashing in his dreams… his father, pages from the account books, Heath back-handing Ralph Snyder… "You're talking to a kid like that!"… "I think his name was Tom…" …"Strawberry." Over and over, scenes tumbled through his head as they bounced out to the ranch.

His sister's sweet voice finally broke through, "Jarrod, we're home."

He sat up and glanced around. He felt unsettled and over-warm, but there was the house and, regardless of the debris strewn about the yard, he'd never been so glad to see its white brick and stately columns. He suddenly remembered his father stepping off the porch to welcome Jarrod home after the war. He'd been overwhelmed by the place then, too. But had his father welcomed Jarrod and Nick back while leaving another son completely without a father? Was it possible? As Jarrod climbed out of the wagon, he couldn't help but think of his father's ledgers. Strawberry sounded vaguely familiar, but why?

Silas came rushing out, "You're back! Well, that's just _fine!_ Mrs. Barkley? Mr. Jarrod, you all right?"

Victoria grasped both of his hands, "Oh, we're all right, Silas. Is the house safe and sound?"

"It's just fine. You all go on in and settle yourselves, and I'll get some food ready."

"Silas, you don't know how good that sounds."

Gene and Audra surrounded their mother and walked her into the house. Silas watched them go with joy lighting his face and started to follow them in.

Jarrod called him back. "Silas, is one of the guest rooms passable?"

Nick had waited to help Jarrod and was standing close by. He started to protest with a hiss, "Jarrod—"

Jarrod spoke over Nick, "Silas, this is Heath Thomson. He'll be staying for a while."

Silas turned to Heath, "Mr. Heath, welcome to the Barkley Ranch. Can I get your bag?"

Heath seemed dazed, just staring at the house, and he barely managed to shake his head. "All I got is my bedroll and saddle bags. I can manage that. But thank you." He briefly eyed Jarrod who was suddenly reminded that Heath's spare shirt was still holding his shoulder together right now. It was filthy and frayed and would never be worn again. He needed to replace it along with the torn, bloody rag Heath was still wearing.

Silas held out a welcoming arm. "Just come with me, sir."

"Umm, my horse?"

Silas nodded congenially, "I'll have someone take good care of her. Don't you worry. Only the best here at the Barkley ranch."

Heath nodded briefly, looking a little overwhelmed as he entered the house.

Once he was safely inside, Jarrod turned to deal with his brother. "I know you're not happy about this, Nick, but he saved my life. And we probably would've lost mother without him. I couldn't leave him in town to bed down on the ground. I don't think he's slept since the train went off the tracks."

"What if he's working for the railroad?" Nick demanded.

Jarrod sighed in fatigue, "I don't see how that's possible after everything he's done for us, but if you feel you need to watch him, then watch him here. What's the old Chinese proverb? 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' But regardless of whatever you suspect, he's staying with us for the time being."

Nick appeared about to protest, but he swallowed whatever he was about to say. He started again… and stopped again. Finally, "Yeah, all right."

Jarrod smiled in relief. Probably the only thing that swayed Nick was that quote from _The Art of War._

**BV**

The better part of two days passed before Jarrod felt like himself again. Well, himself with a very sore shoulder. He spent the time eating and sleeping—mostly sleeping—and when he finally woke up that third day, he almost felt like a new man.

He went through his chifferobe, trying to find a shirt big enough to fit Heath and finally conceded that he'd probably have to raid Nick's wardrobe to find one broad enough in the chest and shoulders. Later, he'd send Silas to town for a new one as soon as he could confirm the shops were open for business again.

When he got downstairs, he found it was almost noon. He'd practically slept another whole day away. What would his father have said about a day wasted in bed? And he was suddenly brought up short, remembering what Heath had said about looking for the man he believed might be his father. Jarrod would need to get out some of the old ledgers… if he could find them. Perhaps he might bring up the subject with his mother. Carefully. Or maybe McColl or Brahma right remember something if he couldn't find the books. Another good possibility was Silas.

Thinking of Silas, he headed into the dining room for lunch.

His mother was already at the table. She smiled as he walked in. "Well, you certainly look better."

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "As do you. Of course, you've always put me to shame, Lovely Lady. Regardless, I feel better. Where is everybody?"

"Audra rode over to check in with Jenny and Evan Miles. And Nick and Gene are trying to catch up the fencing repairs."

Jarrod reached for the salt, "I saw Heath's door was open; did he finally wake up, too?" Jarrod had gotten the impression during his occasional waking moments that Heath had also spent most of the last couple of days asleep.

Victoria nodded, "He came to breakfast this morning and then moved his things out to the bunkhouse."

He frowned, "He's our guest."

Victoria conceded the point. "But Nick offered him a job, and Heath didn't feel he should continue to stay in a guest room if he's working here. I tried to get him to reconsider, but he was adamant."

Jarrod tried to sort his feelings. Heath had single-handedly saved Jarrod's life and was vital in the efforts to save Victoria. They owed him far more than a couple of nights in the guest room, a replacement shirt, or even a job. But… Jarrod felt a sense of dread that the young man might have far stronger connections to their family than anyone had yet guessed. A father named Tom who might have lived in or near Stockton a quarter-century ago… Strawberry… Jarrod _had_ to dig out the old ledgers. Maybe talk to Heath; find out more about this man who might be his father. Figure out Heath's motives…

"Jarrod? Jarrod!"

Jarrod jerked back to the present when he finally heard his mother. "Yes?"

She looked at him in concern. "Is something wrong? You were so far away."

He tried a grin, "No. Just wool-gathering. I was thinking about Heath actually."

Victoria smiled in response, "He seems like such a nice young man. We're very lucky he was on his way to Stockton and came upon the train."

"And that he's had experience working in mines."

She nodded thoughtfully, "Yes. Gene and Audra told me how hard you all worked to get me out of the tunnels. And how instrumental Heath was in making that happen."

Jarrod reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I honestly don't know what we would have done without him."

"I tried to talk to him when he came down to eat the last couple of days, but he's very quiet. That's an unusual trait in this house. Nick didn't quite seem to know how to handle it."

Jarrod managed not to laugh thinking about Nick's boisterous approach to conversation and Heath's lack thereof. Oil and water.

His mother continued, "Still, he seems a little familiar. Did you notice or am I just imagining it?"

Jarrod had been speculating that the Barkleys were a loud, unruly bunch and that it was highly unlikely that Heath had even a drop of their blood, but his mother's question brought him back from that fantasy. "No. No, I can't say that I found him familiar." His mother looked perplexed by his answer, and he squeezed her hand again. "But I like him."

She smiled again, "Yes, very much. He has such excellent manners. His mother must have taken a strong hand in his raising."

Jarrod nodded briefly and picked up his utensils. He didn't want to pursue any further conversation about Heath and his mother. He was already on unsteady ground, and he needed more information.


	11. Chapter 11

SS11

Several weeks went by as the ranch settled into more routine rhythms. Nick had had his hands full initially, checking for damage to the herds, the buildings, the fences, the winery, the orchards. It was only during unexpected upheaval like this when he really had to look at the whole ranch as one huge undertaking. That was when it all seemed overwhelming.

He rode up on a crew digging out a collapsed well. He watched from Coco's back till Brahma walked over.

"Hey, Nick."

"How goes it?"

"Fair to middling. We'll get 'er done here pretty soon."

Nick lifted his chin in the direction of their newest hire. "How's he doing?"

"Fine by me. Hard worker, don't complain none. Not like most of 'em."

Nick chewed the inside of his lip, thinking.

Brahma inspected him thoughtfully. "Something on your mind? You got a problem with him?"

Nick shook his head slightly. "Nothing specific. Just don't know much about him. With all this ruckus stirred up by the railroad again…"

Brahma observed Heath, "I get your meaning. But me personal, I can't find nothing against him." He looked back at Nick, "Best just keep an eye on him. And everybody else, too. We already know how dirty the railroad plays."

Nick nodded, accepting the advice, and pulled Coco's head around to move on down the line.

**BV**

For the umpteenth time, Jarrod stared at the evidence spread out in front of him. Papers, a report, ledgers… the damn ledgers that he'd hoped and prayed would prove him wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But instead of proving that someone else was Heath Thomson's father, the evidence Jarrod had found seemed to show that it was not only it possible that Tom Barkley was Heath's father, it was also even likely. It wasn't irrefutable proof, no. But the circumstantial evidence would probably sway any jury Jarrod had ever dealt with. To his eternal regret, he himself believed that Heath was probably his half-brother.

The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach had been present since he'd first located the old ledgers and found that the Barkleys had indeed once owned an interest in the Strawberry mine. And that Tom had sold off their shares twenty-three years earlier. Those dates squared off nicely with what Heath had told him in that off-hand conversation almost two months ago.

Once he had the ledgers in hand, he'd hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to do a thorough background check on Heath. The full report now in his hands backed up what little Heath had revealed and fleshed out a story that was difficult to read through. Raised by his widowed mother, it was a well-known fact in Strawberry that Heath was illegitimate. He went to work in the mines as a child due to their financial straits and continued there until his early teens.

At that point, he'd joined the Union army as a substitution. Not old enough even to register for the draft, he'd evidently taken someone's three-hundred-dollar buyout and given it to his mother before heading to Tennessee to fight for the Union. He was captured in late 1864 and spent the remainder of the war in the notorious Confederate prisoner-of-war camp known as Carterson. Regardless of Heath's origins, Jarrod shuddered to think how that had affected him at such a young age.

After being liberated, Heath had spent a little time in a Union hospital, then returned to Strawberry for a short period. Soon after, he'd evidently begun taking whatever work was available. The Pinkerton report was spotty for this period as he moved around and became harder to follow, but they listed multiple jobs as a cowhand, teamster, miner, logger, and even as a deputy for renowned U.S. Marshall, Frank Sawyer… which shook Jarrod just a bit. As the possibility loomed large that Tom Barkley might be Heath's father, Jarrod began looking for any reason to disbelieve Heath's story. As his sympathy inevitably grew for Heath's difficult life, Jarrod searched even harder for a reason to doubt the young man… because deep down, regardless of his sense of justice, Jarrod wanted to remember his father as a faithful and loving husband and father. And Jarrod didn't want to upset his family. Not even for someone he liked as much as Heath Thomson. But the fact that Frank Sawyer hired Heath as a deputy (and kept him on for over a year) meant that Heath was likely trustworthy and honest.

Looking at the papers and books in front of him in despair, Jarrod tried to decide what to do. His heart and head were being tugged in different directions. Half of him demanded that his loyalties lay with his family and defending his father against all comers. Protecting his mother and preserving their family name and reputation.

But the other half… the other half raged against injustice and strove to right wrongs. _Someone_ had wronged Heath Thomson and his mother, and it might well have been Tom Barkley. If that turned out to be true, didn't Heath deserve some recompense? Some satisfaction? … a family? Jarrod tried to put himself in Heath's boots, but, after reading the Pinkerton report half a dozen times, he found his ability to do that inadequate. He honestly couldn't imagine the life Heath had led, much less how the young man felt now.

Finally, Jarrod conceded that he needed to discuss his findings with Nick. He had no other choice. Truly, he wanted to talk to the wisest person in his life, but the topic of the discussion could possibly change her entire world, and he didn't think he could do that without talking to Nick first. In the aftermath of their father's death, he and Nick had often retreated to this very study to discuss problems they were both trying to deal with. Unwilling to burden their mother, they'd used each other as a sounding board before making many final decisions. Jarrod had come to depend on Nick to give him an unvarnished opinion on whatever was vexing him. While Nick could be stubborn and unreasonable on occasion, he was also generally fair-minded and clear-headed. He was especially good at seizing the most salient point in any given situation and ignoring unimportant details that might trip Jarrod when he was searching for a conclusion. While this particular topic would undoubtedly cause Nick to overreact, if Jarrod could get Nick to just look—unemotionally—at the facts he'd uncovered, if he could get Nick to examine the entire situation without blowing his top…


	12. Chapter 12

SS12

Heath personally hated this part of the ranching operation. Castration was necessary, but he still didn't like it. On top of that, it could be dangerous. Certainly was today.

He was working with a crew on the east side of the ranch. The only cattle on this portion of the range were cows and their young calves. The whole show was being run by the foreman, Duke McColl, but there were a lot of calves that needed to be dealt with. McColl had split the men into three-man teams and sent them out to find the calves and do the deed. McColl rode around checking their progress.

The safest way to do the job was to rope the calf's head, then the feet, and pull the ropes tight in opposite directions, rendering the calf immobile. Then the third man could safely band the calf. But the hand in charge of their team, a fellow named Barrett, had decided to 'supervise' the more recent hires which left one of them to wrestle the calf and hold him down while the other fought his way between the legs. It was unnecessarily dangerous to Heath's thinking, but he wasn't in charge. Barrett just laughed off their protests and sat on his horse ready to chase down the calf if it got away before the deed was done.

It probably would've been all right if the calves were relatively small. A hundred and fifty, even two hundred pounds, most men could handle, but some of these calves were five or six months old, approaching four or five hundred pounds which was a big job even for three experienced hands.

Unfortunately, the third man on the team was not terribly experienced. Bert had only been with the Barkleys a few months and seemed to be doing a decent job, but he'd previously worked in an icehouse in San Francisco before moving to the San Joaquin. He just hadn't had time enough to learn cattle yet. And he made no excuses, so Heath had to give him credit for that. But because both he and Bert were relatively new hires, neither wanted to get on the wrong side of the other members of the crew. Heath had made a strong suggestion to Barrett that they should all work together to get the job done, but Barrett said the newbies needed to learn how to do it with only two men. They'd spent the entire first day doing it his way, and each time one of the larger calves got loose before the job was done, Barrett just said that proved him right. So here they were, well into the second day, risking serious injury, just so neither he nor Bert would be called yellow or a tattle.

Bert had wrestled the latest calf and was struggling to hold him. Between the two of them, Bert was the bigger man by several inches and probably fifty pounds. This calf was fighting tooth and nail to get away. Heath tried to help hold the calf's back legs still by sitting on them, but in a quick twist, the calf got one leg free as Heath tried to get him banded. Heath didn't want to attempt this calf again, so he kept the bottom leg trapped and threw one elbow around the free leg as he concentrated on the banding. Bert grunted in exertion as he fought the big calf, and suddenly, Heath lost what little control he had of the free leg. The calf landed a hoof in Heath's ribs and shook loose of Bert as Heath landed on his backside. Bert groaned in frustration as he climbed to his feet and came over to help Heath up.

Barrett walked his horse over, "You two still haven't figured it out, huh? You'll just have to keep doing it till you've got it down pat." He turned to chase the calf, but Duke McColl loped up.

"What the hell was that?"

Barrett's surprise was apparent, and it took him a second to answer. "Uh, I thought they needed to learn how to do it with just two men. In case they ever needed to."

"That's stupid. You learn two-man when you _have_ to, not before. I sent you out here to get these calves done, not for you to sit your horse while they did all the work. Doing the job with two men is just asking for someone to get hurt. Is that what you want, Barrett?"

"… No."

"Then what was the idea?"

"I just thought—"

"You didn't think. Or maybe you just didn't think I'd find out."

"Duke, I—"

"Shut up. I'll deal with you later." He turned to Heath and Burt, "You two all right?"

They both nodded.

Duke eyed them and then stuck on Heath. "Thomson, you look a little peaky to me. He got you in the side." He slid an angry glance at Barrett. "I came out to let you know that we're about done here. I was planning on heading to the north pasture to tell Nick, but, Heath, you go instead. Bert, you head the calf, I'll heel him, and Barrett, _you_ band him. Then we'll see if there's any more still need to be done in this section."

Heath was glad McColl knew, but he worried that Barrett would still blame him or Bert. And he wasn't entirely sure he could get on his horse. He didn't want to take a deep breath, but he nodded and resolved to get it done.

**BV**

"He said _what?!"_

Jarrod held his hands up, trying to get Nick to take a breath and listen. "He didn't _say_ anything other than he was looking for his father."

"And he thinks he's Tom Barkley?!"

"No, Nick, he doesn't know anything about Father!"

"You just said—"

"He said he has a letter from _a man named Tom_ who he thinks might have been his father. It was mailed from Stockton to Strawberry about twenty-five years ago."

"And that suddenly makes Father his— his—"

"No! But Father owned a share of the mine in Strawberry back then. I dug out the old ledgers. He sold the last of our investment twenty-three years ago. Don't you think that timing is a little coincidental?"

"No!"

"No? Let's just—for the sake of argument—walk through the possibility." Jarrod held up his hands again to forestall Nick's interruption. "Just listen! Twenty-five years ago, Father maybe goes off to check the mine. He meets a pretty young woman, they spend time together—"

"Oh, come on!"

"—and then he comes back home, not knowing she's with child. He sends her a letter, telling her he's sorry, and never hears from her again. A while later, he sells the shares of the mine that might have taken him back to where she lives. Meanwhile, unknown to him, she's raising his son."

"You think that's what happened?"

"I think it's _possible_."

"Father would never do that. Never!"

"Nick, he was a man. And we were just kids then. We saw him as children see their father—not as an adult."

"A man doesn't change that much."


	13. Chapter 13

This chapter has a lot of dialogue from the first 'Big Valley' episode: 'Palms of Glory'. It was written by Christopher Knopf who also wrote the second episode 'Forty Rifles'. These were the only two episodes he wrote for BV. BTW, he died earlier this year in February 2019.

Chapter 13

Heath held his arm at his side, protecting his ribs from whatever might come his way unexpectedly. He'd ridden to the north pasture, but the ranch hands there said that Nick had gone back to the big house to see Jarrod. And Heath wanted to make sure he carried out his assigned duties, so he'd headed that way himself. 'Cause, well, he wasn't sure what the problem was, but Nick didn't seem to like him much. Heath didn't want another reason for him to find fault. And not wanting to track dirt through the fancy front hall, he approached the door to the kitchen and knocked.

"Come in!"

Heath opened the door and nodded to Mrs. Barkley who was kneading bread dough.

"Hello, Heath. What can I do for you?"

"Ma'am. Duke sent me to find Nick."

"He and Jarrod are in the study. Do you remember where it is? Through the dining room and turn left. It's the door at the foot of the front staircase."

Heath touched his hat brim in salute. "Thank you, Mrs. Barkley."

He followed her directions, vaguely remembering having seen a hearth and bookcases through that door. As he approached, ready to knock, he heard the two men inside yelling at each other. Not wanting to interrupt, he held off. He didn't mean to listen in, but the two men he worked for had voices that carried remarkably well, even through solid walls.

"… We don't know what Father did when he wasn't here!"

"Well, I can tell you he didn't bed every woman who crossed his path in those two-bit towns."

"Nick, we have no idea what type of type of person he was on business trips!"

"Oh really? Then how is it we've never heard of this kind of behavior before? Huh? We've met enough people he did business with over the years. They would have said something!"

"To his sons? You really believe that?"

"If he'd gone around sleeping with whores, whelping kids—somebody would have told us! There are enough people around that don't like us; we would have heard _something_!"

Heath stood frozen, listening to the boiling argument on the other side of the door until the front door slammed.

"Hey, Heath. What're you doing?"

His head jerked up as Eugene Barkley strode across the floor. "Shut up."

Gene looked stunned, "What?"

"I said shut up!"

The study door beside him suddenly opened, and a very angry Nick Barkley stood there fuming. Behind him, Heath could see Jarrod looking back at him in shock.

**BV**

"Get in here!" Nick grabbed Heath's shoulder and pulled him bodily into the study. "Gene, you too!"

Jarrod bowed his head in defeat. The situation had just gotten exponentially worse.

Nick leaned into Heath's space, "What were you doing out there? Eavesdropping?!"

Heath seethed, "Duke sent me to tell you that we finished the calves on the east side! You _weren't_ in the North meadow where he said you'd be!" He looked past Nick to Jarrod and lowered his voice slightly, "You think I'm your father's bastard son?"

Gene's eyes popped open, "What?!"

Nick grabbed Heath's shirt, jerking him close, "Don't you say that! Don't you _ever _say that!"

"I didn't say that. I _heard _it just now in this room." He shook himself from Nick's grasp and looked back at Jarrod again. "Your father's name was Tom? He was in Strawberry twenty-five years ago?"

Jarrod briefly caught the eyes of his brothers. Nick looked furious, Gene astonished. He tried to hold Heath's gaze but found he couldn't. "Yes. And…" _Probably. _ "… maybe."

Heath paced around the oak-paneled study. "So this is what it is. Well, I wondered." He indicated the portrait over the mantle, "The old stud himself," his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Gene reacted and made to go after Heath, but Jarrod held him back. This was a side of Heath he'd never seen. The air was crackling between the four of them.

"Booooy howdy, don't he look proper? You know, I bet they buried him in those clothes. Buttons all shined and his hair all spit and slickered! And a rose in his teeth! And the honeybees buzzing!"

"Oh, well, now, that's all—" This time it was Nick who started to cross the room after Heath.

"Nick!" Jarrod had to use his whole body to hold him back.

"I bet a band playing and singing and _ever_ so good a time! And some parson reading." He paused briefly, "They buried my mama, but it wasn't in refinement and no crowd weeped over her grave. Put in a potter's field like she was nothing!" He took a breath, "The night I was borned, she was alone. In a tent. In the rotten rat-hole of a mining camp up the Stanislaus. And the rain beat down and turned the straw to mud. But you know what she was? She was warm… and gentle and fair. And left to her own when her husband got liquored up and drowned in some creek!" He eyed the portrait again, "Until _he _came."

Nick folded his arms, "Come on, you know there was a lot of men in those camps. You know the kind of women—"

"Nick!"

Heath erupted, "There was only one of my mother!"

"Just a sweet, simple, innocent little—"

"Nick, that'll be enough." Jarrod crossed to Heath, "Do you have anything that might prove your father's identity?"

Heath thought back, "I'd been up on the Klamath. They called for me, said she was sick and dying." He quirked a half smile, "She never talked about it, who my father was, not in all these years. There was a bible in a box at her bedside. I turned to the back. A letter fell out. I picked it up, and I read it. And I looked at her… she was gone."

"That's it?" Nick's tone was accusatory.

"You're not dumping me the way he dumped her!"

Jarrod interrupted, "Heath, can we see the letter?"

"The only thing I have to prove what I'm saying? You'll destroy it to save his reputation!"

Nick spoke up again, "Just what do you expect to happen here?"

"How about what I'm entitled to? The name. A heritage. A part of it all. What's mine!"

Nick pulled out his wallet and counted out some bills and shoved them into Heath's shirt pocket. "All right, boy, you listen to me. Here's three hundred dollars. I want you out of this house, off this place, and out of this valley!"

Heath looked at the three of them, his gaze lingering on Jarrod for a couple of seconds longer. Then he calmly reached into the pocket and pulled the money out. He walked over to the desk where Nick had left a glass of whiskey and pushed the money inside. Then he stalked to the study door and paused. He looked back at the three of them and sketched a low, two-fingered salute along with a wry grin. Then he hurried out the front door without another glance.

Note: I've been informed by a reader (with experience!) that the castration procedure I mentioned in the last chapter probably wasn't in use at the time. I couldn't find much on the process used in the 1870s though I did research several sources. Regardless, she said they probably just used a knife.


	14. Chapter 14

Note: A lot more dialogue in this chapter that is pulled right from 'Palms of Glory'. That is credited, as before, to writer, Christopher Knopf.

Chapter 14

Jarrod slowly closed the door of the study, trying to gather thoughts that were bouncing around his head in a dizzying fashion. What had just happened? By staying silent about the information he'd found, he'd protected his family and his father's good name. But he feared he'd done Heath a great disservice. A man who'd saved both Jarrod's and his mother's life. A man who might well be his half-brother.

"Jarrod? Nick? What is going on here?" Eugene sounded like he was about to lose control.

Nick's voice was cold, "It doesn't matter now."

Jarrod turned to face them, "Yes, it does matter, Nick! What if it's true? What if he is our brother?"

"We've already been through that; it's impossible."

"No, Nick, you _decided_ it was impossible. You haven't even looked at what I brought you in here to see!"

"I don't _need_ to see it! I knew Father, and it just can't be." He paused and caught a new thought, "You know what? I bet the railroad is behind this. They sent him here with this cockamamie story to distract us. And you played right into their hand by buying his story hook, line, and sinker."

Jarrod rolled his eyes. The very idea that a deputy of Frank Sawyer's would be on the payroll of the railroad was unlikely, but he couldn't even get Nick to look at the evidence.

Just then, there was a quiet knock on the door. Gene opened it to find Silas… who somehow looked smaller than usual, like he was trying to disappear. Jarrod immediately wondered what he might have overheard… and what the rest of the family in the house might have heard.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jarrod, but you have some callers."

"Who is it?"

"Mr. Swenson, Mr. Semple, and Mr. Worth."

Jarrod nodded, "All right, show them in here, Silas." His mind switched gears. This was probably a real railroad problem. And these neighbors didn't need to know their family business.

The three walked in, each holding a paper in his hand. Jarrod greeted them each in turn "Sig, how are you? Frank? Abe?"

Sig Swenson held out his paper, "Hey, they're bluffing, huh? Twenty-five dollars an acre… for my own land! Pay or they sell it out from under me! Who's that riddler think they're trying to bluff?"

Jarrod examined the order demanding payment or face immediate enforced eviction. He'd been expecting something like this for a while. After Crown's death, it took the railroad a while to get back on track with their plans for the valley, but Jarrod had always known they would return. "By midnight tonight, huh?" He folded the paper and handed it back to Swenson.

"Ain't that the note of it, though!"

Jarrod turned to Semple, "Frank, yours?"

"Till eight in the morning."

Worth piped up, "Noon tomorrow."

Swenson started again, "I was gonna feed this thing to my goat, but I figured, hey, I ought to show it to you first. For a laugh."

Jarrod considered the possibilities, glad he was able to focus on one issue. "So that's how they're hitting you. One at a time."

"Yeah! They think they can…" Swenson trailed off as he finally caught Jarrod's serious face.

Semple came up, "What do you mean 'hitting' us, Jarrod?"

"You know the governor vetoed my bill."

"But they never did nothing about it!"

"Their attorney was killed on the train. It just took them some time to regroup after his death."

Semple was desperate. "It ain't legal. It can't be!"

"Not by any moral standard, I know, but it's legal."

Worth rubbed his neck in frustration, "Twenty-five dollars an acre! How am I ever gonna raise that much money?"

Frank Semple was intense as he turned to Nick, "How many men you have under hire?"

"Why?"

"Thirty-five? Forty? We can match that, Sig, in one hour!"

Jarrod was stunned, "For what, Frank?"

Sig Swenson strode across the room, "Fight 'em, Jarrod. He's right. Just like we did before. With your daddy."

"Who do you think you'd be fighting, Sig? A half dozen mud hogs off a flat car? No. Go into town and take a look! It's crawling with them. They've hired themselves an army."

Semple was dismayed, "You're asking us to give into it, Jarrod? That what you're asking? Give up all we own? My house? My field? My oldest boy's buried by that house. I give that up?!"

"Frank, I think you know me better than that. All right, now, first thing in the morning, I'll initiate injunctive procedures. That'll give us time to weigh our moves. Now, don't worry, boys; nothing's going to happen—not tonight anyway. Let's talk tomorrow. Frank, can you be here?"

Semple was downcast, but he answered, "Yeah, if you say so."

"Good. Suppose we make it at this time." He checked his watch, "Six o'clock." He looked across the room, "Abe?"

He nodded, "All right, Jarrod."

Back to Swenson, "Sig?"

He looked devastated. "Yeah."

"Good. Let's have a drink before you go."

Swenson shook his head, "Drink? No, I gotta go wet a field down."

Worth followed him, "Hatcher and Schmidt; maybe I can bring them in."

Jarrod agreed, "They're good men."

Semple walked out without a word.

Jarrod shook his head and sighed. Bad timing all the way around.

Nick walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses, handing one to Gene. He looked at Jarrod, "Scotch or whiskey?"

Jarrod eyed him speculatively, wondering about the question. "Well, it's always been scotch."

Nick was in full sarcasm, "Now, I wasn't sure what other tastes you might have changed."

"Whatever that's supposed to mean."

The cork was between Nick's teeth as he poured, "Injunctive procedures. Who do you think you're kidding? There isn't a court around here the railroad doesn't own. It's fight or nothing."

Typical. "Well, that's fine, Nick, that's just great. You go ahead, go on a tear. That's the way you've always done it. Well, those tactics may work in a barroom brawl, but they won't work here. This is the state you're swinging on, boy, or maybe you think you're up to it!" He looked at their youngest brother for support. "Now, Eugene, you tell him."

He glanced between them, unsure. "Well, there's right to what both of you say. I don't know. I just gotta think about it."

Nick nodded firmly, "That's right, kid, you go ahead and _think! _You think while the barn's burning down!"

"Now just a minute!"

Just then, their mother stopped by the door, looking a bit pale. "Jarrod, I saw the neighbors were here. Did you get your business settled?"

"Well…"

"Oh, and Nick, Heath was looking for you earlier."

Nick let out a deep breath, "He found me." He glared at Jarrod and then Gene, silently warning them not to say anything.

But Jarrod had to wonder. The way Nick's voice carried, he suspected Silas may well have overheard their argument. It wasn't a stretch to wonder if their mother had as well.


	15. Chapter 15

A few bits and pieces of dialogue from 'POG'. Credited to Christopher Knopf. Thanks again for reading and your comments. Truly appreciated.

Chapter 15

Heath stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him. He forcefully exhaled and tried to control his suddenly ragged breathing. He had to get out… out… _anywhere_ away from this place, and he glanced around for his horse before remembering he'd come in through the kitchen. He hurried around the corner of the house and broke into a run. He leaped on his horse and kicked her to a quick gallop.

Flying up the road, his head spun. He couldn't focus on anything as he tried to sort the raging thoughts and emotions swirling around his head. All this time on his own… deciding to look for his father… but had he _really_ expected to find him? Really? A man—any man—named Tom in or around Stockton twenty-five years ago? How many Toms in Stockton then? Would he really still be here? Or would anyone that knew one of those Toms still be around? Now that he considered it, it was pretty crazy to believe his father might still be found. But to think that one of the possibilities was the father of the only people he really knew in this town. And Jarrod _knew_—had to have known—and had said nothing all this time! When Heath thought about the Barkley wealth… and compared it to the hardship his mother had lived with all her life, he just wanted to hit something… or someone. Or scream.

He blinked moisture out of his eyes and suddenly realized his horse was laboring. He'd not ridden her this hard since that stupid race against the train. He eased up and let her slow to a walk. He glanced around and realized how far he'd come from the Barkley house. But he didn't want to go into town. He didn't have his money, and it was supposedly still crawling with rowdies up to no good. He needed a quiet place to do some thinking and wrap his head around what had just happened.

Ahead, he saw a break in the trees and found a path as he rode closer. It had probably been wider once upon a time, but it was starting to grow over. He nosed his horse into the slightly cooler shadows of the trees. He didn't know where he was going, but at this point, he didn't much care.

About a half mile in, he came to a clearing and looked around. On one side, he found a gravestone surrounded by a small picket fence and some flowers. He dismounted and walked closer.

Thomas Barkley  
1813-1870

He kneeled down, fury raging again at the thought of what might have been. What would it have been like to have a father? Heath had only known his mother and her friends. Occasionally, some man in Strawberry might show a little interest, but none of the good ones ever stayed long enough to develop any kind of real relationship. All the rest only wanted to take advantage of Heath or his mother. He'd learned their type real quick and steered clear. But a real father?

Then suddenly, he was being slapped on the shoulder and back with a strap and jerked around to defend himself against the blows.

"Oh, Heath! I didn't realize it was you!"

Audra jumped off her horse and threw reins and riding crop aside. "I'm so sorry! I didn't recognize you from behind. Almost no one but the family comes out here anymore. I-I-I planted those flowers, and when I saw you kneeling there, I thought you were tramping them."

He caught his breath and remembered where he was and who he was with… who she might actually be. "Then I'm sorry."

"No, it was me; I overreacted." She paused and looked around, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I got fouled up in the woods there and ran across this grave. It's not a likely place for a grave."

Audra glanced down briefly, "He died here. It's where they shot him. A thousand people came from the valley to bury him. He was that kind of man." She was clearly honored to be Tom Barkley's daughter.

Heath didn't know what to think as emotions tumbled through his head. "I know what it's like to be without a father."

She smiled sympathetically and stepped closer, "When did you lose yours?"

Heath thought back over his difficult raising, but he didn't want to shock her with his background since she clearly wasn't aware. "Before I was born."

She was a picture of understanding as she raised a hand to touch his cheek where it was still stinging from the bite of her riding crop. "You never knew him at all? But he must have been good and kind or your mother would never have married him."

Heath shook his head without answering. He didn't know what to think or do or say.

"Oh, Heath, we hardly know anything about you, but I can see you're strong and decent and hard-working. You're smart and stubborn, and you care about people—even when you hardly know them." She raised her head as she stepped even closer.

Heath took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she might kiss him, and he stepped back before it could go any further. "I need to get back to work."

Audra looked a bit confused at his withdrawal, but she nodded after a second. "It is getting late. I should head back to the house."

"Probably getting close to supper."

She glanced up hopefully, "We could ride back together…"

He shook his head and managed a quick grin, "You go on. I need to finish up."

"All right. I'll… see you later."

He held her horse while she mounted. He handed up the reins and touched his hat brim in farewell. She smiled and turned her gelding down the path he'd taken to reach this spot. As she left the clearing, he glanced back at the grave of the man who might be his father. He'd never felt so confused.


	16. Chapter 16

As before, lots of dialogue from 'Palms of Glory' credited to writer Christopher Knopf.

As much as Jarrod hated being woken in the middle of the night, he really hated being woken by the bell ringing in the yard. And it had taken a long while to fall asleep as memories of the day assaulted him. He'd gone to look for Heath before dinner, but some of the men said he'd ridden out the front gate like his tail was on fire. Jarrod wasn't sure what this might portend, but he doubted it would be good. Finding out about Jarrod's suspicions the way he did, there was no telling what the man might do. And Jarrod knew from personal experience that when Heath decided to do something, it would be done come hell or high water. Just as stubborn as any Barkley, no doubt of that.

Then there were Jarrod's concerns regarding what his mother may or may not have overheard. She had not acted dramatically different, but she had not gathered with them for drinks before dinner, and she'd excused herself rather earlier in the evening than was typical, taking Audra with her. Perhaps she was just tired or concerned about some issue with Audra. Or maybe she _had_ overheard at least part of their discussion. But it was impossible to ask without raising her suspicions.

Gene had been quiet the whole evening. Their mother clearly noticed, but she did not mention it. Audra also asked Gene what was wrong. No big surprise that he overreacted by blowing up at her. Audra responded with bewilderment and started to pursue the matter, but Jarrod and Nick had forcefully quelled her inquisition. However, knowing how close Audra and Gene were, it wouldn't surprise Jarrod a bit if she didn't wheedle the information out of Gene soon.

So, with these issues tumbling about his head, it had taken Jarrod a long time to fall asleep, and here it was one o'clock in the morning, and the bell was ringing. That always heralded an emergency. It put Jarrod in mind of the quote from _Macbeth: _ 'By the pricking of my thumbs / Something wicked this way comes.'

He vaulted out of bed and started pulling on clothes he'd removed just a few hours earlier. He, Nick, and Gene stumbled down the back stairs and into the yard as men began pouring from the bunkhouses. Jarrod didn't immediately recognize the man ringing the bell, and he vaguely wondered if he was a new hand that Nick had hired or if he was from a neighboring ranch.

"Fire! Fire! Fire at Swenson's! Fire at Swenson's!"

Jarrod was immediately overcome by the memory of telling Sig Swenson that very afternoon that nothing would happen tonight. He immediately looked at his brothers, expecting reproach, but they both looked as pained and upset as he felt. Nick began giving orders to get the men moving toward the Swenson place, and Jarrod glanced back at the house to see his mother standing at the door to the kitchen.

He went over and took her hands. "It's the railroad. They've fired the Swenson place. That's what they came to see me about today."

She looked haunted and dismayed, but she nodded, "Go. Help him."

Jarrod glanced around for Audra as he didn't want to leave his mother alone with her memories of the last time the railroad made an aggressive move against the men of the San Joaquin Valley. But his sister wasn't immediately available, and Jarrod briefly wondered where she might be.

His mother squeezed his hands, "Go."

He looked in her eyes and drew strength from her urgent encouragement. He nodded and turned as Nick tossed the reins of a horse in his direction.

**BV**

They did their best, but the fire had a good hold on the main house before they arrived. They were able to save the barns and outbuildings, but most of the Swenson home was gone before the fire was under control. Looking at the smoldering ruins, Jarrod felt guilty for not crediting the railroad's audacity. He'd never anticipated that they would make such a bold move. Expecting accusatory glares, he glanced at the gathered neighbors and friends, but mostly all he saw was exhaustion and despair as many of them were facing the same threat.

Sig Swenson looked devastated and done in, aging ten years in just a few hours. "They came. Just came! With guns and torches! Hollering out like wolves. And I just stood there aside and watched 'em do it."

Frank Semple refused to give in, "Well, not my place. I'm hanged to have to pay for what I own. I have a paper here that says I have to do just that. By eight o'clock in the morning. Or have my place took out from under me. Well, I ain't. Y'hear? I ain't! Who stands with me?"

Jarrod tried to figure their next step, but the railroad's nervy move had him off balance. He glanced at the gathered crowd, wondering if there was anyone who might help him sort through possible responses. At some point, his mother and Audra… and _Heath_ had arrived along with acting Sheriff Wallant. But none of the friends and neighbors appeared ready or able to have a clear-headed discussion.

Nick looked around at the silent, still crowd and moved to stand beside Frank Semple. His decision was clear.

But Sheriff Wallant walked up, "No one stands with you, Frank," clearly talking to both Semple and Nick, trying to make a point. "I'm sorry. But legally, after tomorrow, the land's no longer yours."

Semple was desperate for support and naturally turned to the Barkleys, "Nick… Jarrod… Eugene, listen. Six years ago, your daddy and mine fought and died for this. Because _your _daddy said it was right to fight."

Wallant tried to be the voice of reason. "And what did it gain you? Anyone of you? _Your_ father and yours, how many others dead. Years of false hope."

Wondering vaguely how Wallant knew that particular history, Jarrod looked over at his mother, regretting the loss—the grief—she'd suffered, that they'd all suffered from this fight. Was it all in vain? Was it false hope? All the people gone, all the lives disrupted… And the loneliness and pain had endured since that terrible fight six years ago; was it all for nothing?

Wallant continued, gesturing to make his point. "Tom Barkley was only a man. He couldn't fight a giant and win! Any more than can you. Or you. Or any man! So worship him, pray for him… but follow him? You'll follow a dead man to his grave."

Eugene looked at Jarrod in fear or consternation or maybe just wishing Jarrod had something to say in rebuttal.

Semple looked urgently at Nick, "That true? What he says? Your daddy gave us nothing? No way to fight? Never did."

Nick stared daggers at his older brother as Jarrod tried to figure out a way to resolve the issue that didn't put anyone else in the railroad's crosshairs. Nick maintained his glare at Jarrod till Semple turned, drawing his attention.

Frank held up his eviction notice for everyone to see and then tore it in half, throwing the two pieces to the side.

One last look around at the gathered men and Nick moved again to stand beside their neighbor, folding his arms in resolve and silent judgment. Gene waited for Jarrod's reaction and then, with a quick glance at their mother, he followed Nick. Sig Swenson, devastated though he was, was right on their heels.

Jarrod could see no way out, no way to avoid bloodshed that would allow him to keep his self-respect. He looked at his mother, and the desperation on her face convinced him as nothing else could. She needed her husband's death to have meant something, and truly, Jarrod did as well. It was probably a fool's attempt—they'd all likely wind up dead or wounded—but he loved his family. In the end, wherever they stood, so did he. He walked across the yard and stood by his brothers as the rest of the gathered friends and neighbors joined them.

Finally resolved, Jarrod looked back at Wallant, standing alone in the yard. "I remember you from the war and respect you enough to be honest."

Nick was a little more blunt, "Any man that comes to try to take that farm, he's gonna be killed."

Wallant sighed, "I'm sorry to hear that. Because I'm gonna be with them."


	17. Chapter 17

Same deal: Original dialogue from the 'Palms of Glory' episode credited to Christopher Knopf

Chapter 17

After Heath rode away from the Barkley mansion, he first argued and fought with a bunch of ghosts from his past. When that got him nowhere, Heath spent several hours thinking and only ended up as confused as when he started. Heath finally decided to return to the ranch to pick up his belongings after everyone had gone to bed. He still didn't know what to do about the afternoon's surprises, but his only proof—if anyone would call it that—was in the trunk at the end of his rack in the bunkhouse.

Less than a mile from the main house, he heard the bell ringing and wondered what was going on. He pushed his horse into a lope. By the time he got to the yard, most of the men were leaving at a full gallop. Mrs. Barkley and Audra were hurrying toward the barn when he dismounted.

"What's happened?"

They both looked at him, startled, and then Mrs. Barkley answered, "One of our neighbors, Sig Swenson, his house is burning. We think it's the railroad trying to drive him off his land."

"I'll get the buckboard ready for you, ma'am." He be damned if he ever let a woman tack up horses while he stood around doing nothing. He hurried into the stable and pulled out a well-matched pair of horses used for wagon and buggy work. As he worked, he felt the discomfort from being kicked in the ribs this afternoon. When he finished with the horses, he helped the ladies into the buggy.

Mrs. Barkley nodded stiffly, "Thank you, Heath."

Audra looked at him like he was contagious which made him think she'd probably heard about his dust-up in the study with her brothers, but she also murmured her gratitude as he assisted her.

He decided he'd best ride along with them. If those railroad yahoos were roaming around, he didn't want the ladies driving through the night unescorted.

A few minutes into the trip, another man rode up alongside. Acting-sheriff Wallant. "I hear there has been nefarious activity tonight."

Heath didn't know what 'nefarious' meant, but it probably wasn't nothing good. Regardless, he held his tongue. The sheriff didn't seem to be talking to him anyway.

Mrs. Barkley answered, "Sig Swenson's house is burning. The railroad gave him a deadline of midnight to pay up or be off the property."

"Well, my understanding is that, by law, the property belongs to the railroad."

"There is strong disagreement to that understanding, General."

"Well, I'm new to the area, Mrs. Barkley. I can only follow what the law dictates."

Just about then, they drew up on the fire. The house was gone, but they'd been able to save the barns and other buildings around the property. Not that it would matter much to Mr. Swenson and his family.

Heath watched the group debate how they should respond, and he felt bad for Mr. Semple who was next in the railroad's crosshairs. From the sound of things, this was the same fight that got old Mr. Barkley killed. Nick looked bound and determined to see it through, but Jarrod and Gene didn't seem certain it was the right path. If this was how it stood with the brothers—arguing over how to answer the people who'd killed their father—Heath wasn't sure he wanted to be a Barkley.

It seemed pretty simple to him. The railroad had sold these people land, but they were trying to pull a fast one and say they'd only rented it out. That was just plain wrong. Or it seemed wrong to him anyway. Of course, he was in no shape to be thinking. His head still felt like marbles were rolling around inside, knocking his thoughts all over the place. This wasn't his fight, and he needed to settle down somewhere to sort through everything. He headed his horse back toward the Barkley ranch to pick up his things.

The bunkhouse was still deserted when he arrived, and he quickly made his way to the bunk where he'd been sleeping the last two months. He just hoped none of the Barkleys had already cleaned out his belongings. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found everything undisturbed. He pulled out his mother's bible and flipped to the back to find the letter from the man he'd thought might be his father. Didn't know what to think now. He slipped the letter into his front shirt pocket and packed his bedroll. He'd just had a thought about grabbing an apple or some leftovers from the food stores when he turned and found Mrs. Barkley standing by the door. It brought him up short the way she was looking at him. And he hadn't heard her—not the wagon, the horses, or her coming inside the bunkhouse. He stared at her briefly, suddenly worried about what she might know. He didn't trust himself not to say the wrong thing, so he started to move around her to the door.

"He was an imperfect man, my husband. And in so many ways that could hurt. But he never destroyed, only built and gave life. For he knew that what he brought was a changing way. A revolution of its own that said, 'You are a free man no one—not railroad, nor Jordan, nor Thomas Barkley can own.' And he knew it was something only won with courage, pride, and leadership. That's what he tried to instill in his sons. If you hadn't ridden away tonight, you would have seen that he accomplished it. It's not a battle that can be won in a day, a year, or even ten. And then one day, he made a terrible, wretched mistake: he died… before anyone really understood. And so, if you were my son, I would say to you be proud. Because any son of my husband has a right to be proud. Live as he would live, fight as he would fight, and no one—_no one_—can deny you his birthright." She paused and managed a small smile to herself, "That's what I would say to you… if you were my son."

If he'd been confused before, it didn't hold a candle to how he felt now. Anything that popped out of his mouth at this moment would be wrong… or he wouldn't say it right… or he just didn't know. His mother would have been mortified if he said something hurtful to this fine lady, so he decided to just keep his mouth shut. Which was rude and not the right response, but he figured to get in less trouble for saying nothing than for saying the truly wrong thing. Then he turned and headed out the door.


	18. Chapter 18

Once he got on his horse moving, the mare settled into a slow walk, and he let his mind wander. Heath was mesmerized by Mrs. Barkley's words. For once, he could almost see what it might have been like to have such a man for a father.

Having been raised by three women who'd struggled to survive, whose only pride had been in raising Heath, whose gigantic courage had been expressed just by getting out of bed every day, Heath's only real childhood experience with a man had been his Uncle Matt who'd never shown any of the qualities that Mrs. Barkley had described. Heath wouldn't take nothing for the love and raising he'd gotten from his mother, Rachel, and Hannah, but they could only teach him so much about how to be a man. His first, up-close understanding of a real man had been when he joined the army. Then he'd seen plenty of men showing strength, pride, and courage, but it was all so mixed up with terror, humiliation, and cowardice that he tried not to think on that time too much. Too much death and destruction to sort out from good memories, and he didn't force the issue.

It wasn't until after, when he'd started traveling around working any job available, that he found examples of men he could look up to. Men he'd worked with and for, men he'd traveled the countryside with, occasionally someone he'd spent only a few minutes with. But according to Mrs. Barkley, he might have known that kind of man from birth if he'd been born in a different situation. He might have had a father sitting him down and telling him—showing him—how he needed to live and conduct himself.

For the first time, he felt jealous of Jarrod and his brothers. Not because of their wealth and property and good standing in the community, but for their heritage… for the example of manhood they grew up knowing and absorbing. That was worth more than all their earthly goods. To have a respectable man teaching a boy how to be a man like himself… that was beyond money.

It made him angry at the wasted opportunity and resentful that he'd been the one left out.

But stewing in all that bitterness wasn't going to get him anywhere tonight. That was a fight for another day. He needed to settle somewhere and get some rest. He took a deep breath and looked around in the darkness, thankful for the bright moonlight. He'd given his horse her head, trusting her to take care of him as always, and had been so lost in thought that he'd not paid attention to where she'd taken him. He had no idea where he was or the time. He didn't know how far he'd come from the ranch or exactly in which direction. Nothing was familiar. Glancing at the stars, he thought he was headed northwest, which was the general direction of Stockton, but he didn't know if he was east or west of the main road. Boy howdy, what a mess.

He turned his mare on the next path that showed itself. He hoped to find a sheltered place, spread out his bedroll, and get some sleep. He was tired down to his bones, and he knew he wasn't thinking right. It was next to impossible to make good decisions when he was so tired. And something like this was too important; he couldn't muck it up just because he couldn't think straight.

The trail he was on wasn't well kept; clearly, no one used it much these days. He kept going, hoping to get out of the woods into a clear spot where, with any luck, he'd sleep and figure out what to do.

Then he heard horse hooves moving at a lope, coming up from behind. Seemed strange, given it was dark o'clock in the morning and he was in the middle of nowhere. Suspicious, he pulled his mare into the trees and waited. Shortly, a big white horse came up the trail and passed him. That was Wallant's horse; an animal that magnificent was instantly recognizable. What was he doing out here? And where was he going? Heath remounted and started to follow along the now empty trail.

It shortly led to a small cabin in a clearing at the foot of a tall wooded hill. There was light coming from the few window openings and several other horses were gathered outside. Heath left his mare in the woods and crept closer to the cabin, heading toward the back and away from the horses out front. He slid along the back wall to the rear window which had no glass (and maybe never did.) He crouched down to stay out of sight and tried to shut out the night noises around him.

He could make out several men talking but mostly it was that ringing, preacher-like voice of Wallant. He was talking about the fire and aftermath at Swenson's place.

"…the house is a total loss, but it looks like they managed to save the barns and some other buildings."

"Did they learn their lesson?" Heath didn't recognize this voice.

"I don't think so. They sounded like they're ready to fight it out in the morning."

"You must have misunderstood, Wallant. It'd be suicide for them."

"One of the Barkleys told me straight up that anyone trying to take that farm would be killed."

"The Barkleys? Not the lawyer; he's too sophisticated for that."

"No, not the lawyer, but he was there. It was his brother, Nick, that said it."

"What did the lawyer say?"

"Nothing. He stood there with his brother."

"Jarrod Barkley just stood there while his brother… _threatened_ you? The acting sheriff?"

"Yes. Initially, there was quite a bit of back and forth between the men after they put out the worst of the fire. Semple was pretty desperate and persuasive, but he didn't have to work too hard to get Nick Barkley on his side. Then the youngest of the Barkleys… uh…"

"Gene?"

"Yeah, Gene, he went and stood with Nick, too. Jarrod took a bit longer to decide, but once he did, every other man there stood with Semple against me. I did my best to convince them it was useless and would only result in needless bloodshed, but they seemed dead set when I left them a little while ago. I think you're going to run into a buzz saw in the morning."

"With all the men we've got in town, our _saw_ is bigger than theirs. We'll cut through them like saplings."

"Gentlemen, I don't mean to lecture you, but I do have some experience in battle. They have several advantages that you'll want to consider. One, they'll be on defense. An attacking army—that's us—can quickly become confused and lose cohesion, and the attack will simply fall apart. Two, even though it is the _Semple_ Farm, those men see this as a fight for the entire valley. They are, in essence, fighting for their own homes. That kind of desperation will make them dig deeper, fight harder than these hired guns you've brought in. I learned that by fighting the Southern soldier in his homeland. Third, they have excellent leadership. In the time I've been in Stockton, I've come to understand that these Barkleys have a higher level of respect around here than anyone else I've met. Though they hold no elected or appointed office, everyone I've talked to seems to admire them, one and all. Additionally, I've had some friends in Washington check out Jarrod and Nick Barkley. Both of them were officers who served with distinction during the war. If the Barkleys have decided to meet us tomorrow morning with armed resistance, every man in the valley will follow them. And they will fight like wildcats."

There was a long pause. Seemed Wallant had given them a lot to think about.

Finally, another voice answered, "We can't do anything about those first two problems—them being on defense and fighting for their homes. What might we do about the third?"

A different voice spoke up, "The Barkleys?"

"Yeah. What if… they weren't there?"

"You mean if they don't show up?"

"Or they… die in the fight."

Heath stopped breathing at that unexpected statement.

Wallant finally answered, "Loss of leadership at a critical juncture can sometimes swing the pendulum of battle in a different direction. Not always, of course, but when the fighting force is rather small—as it will be in the morning—the difference might be significant."

There was another pause before Wallant continued, "In all of those gunmen you've brought in, is there one or two who might be a sharpshooter?"

"I can think of… two possibilities."

"And will they agree to a special assignment?"

"If we pay them extra."

"I suggest you do."

Heath listened a while longer, but it was clear they were finishing up and would be leaving soon. He slipped away from the window and back to his horse, pulling her further into the woods so he wouldn't be seen by the conspirators as they left the old cabin. Standing by his horse as the men left, he tried to control his breathing. They were talking about the cold-blooded murder of good, decent men… who might or might not be his brothers, but that didn't seem all that important right now. Jarrod and Nick Barkley were strong, able, honorable men who'd been raised to stand with their neighbors and fight shoulder-to-shoulder for what was right. And they were being targeted by low-down, vicious snakes.

But how could Heath warn them? The sky was starting to lighten, so it must be nearing 6:00 a.m. He didn't know exactly how long it would take him to find his way back to the Barkley ranch. Nor did he know where the Semple Farm was. If he went to Stockton, would any of the people in town tell him where the Semple Farm was located? They didn't know Heath from Adam, and they might figure him for one of the railroad's hired roughnecks. No matter what, he couldn't be late to _this_ fight.

He finally decided to follow Wallant. From what he'd heard at Swenson's and just now, Wallant would be there. Heath needed to fight alongside the Barkleys. Whether or not he shared their blood, they were the kind of men he admired—men who were strong and fought hard for their families, their land, and what they believed. And maybe he could stop them from getting killed for being the men their father raised them to be. Whether he was their half-brother or not, he wanted to stand with them in this fight.


	19. Chapter 19

I may have mentioned (once or twice?) that the dialogue from the 'Palms of Glory' episode is credited to Christopher Knopf. The dialogue from 'Forty Rifles' is _also_ credited to Christopher Knopf. (Nice how that worked out for me, huh?) This chapter is big, both dramatically and length-wise. It's about double the average size of my usual chapter, but I just couldn't break this into two parts. Enjoy!

Chapter 19

The Semple farm was not large, imposing, or even impressive. It was a small ranch house with a barn and a couple of other buildings… and the land, of course. But it was Frank Semple's whole world, and it meant just as much to him as the Barkley Ranch meant to Jarrod and his family.

Jarrod walked along the porch, nodding or briefly speaking to the friends and neighbors who'd come out to support Frank, men who were risking their lives to help him keep everything he'd poured his life into building. Just as they had all done on their own places.

Jarrod tried to be optimistic, projecting confidence about the morning's outcome, but he could not banish thoughts that many of these men might not survive. The odds were lopsided against them, and he only hoped that God might smile on their cause.

Up on the porch, Nick was telling a tale, and Jarrod had to poke a stick in it. He simply couldn't stop himself; it was his brotherly duty. Thinking about fraternal obligations, it was also his duty to protect Gene. He'd tried in vain to insist that his youngest brother stay home, but Gene wouldn't even entertain a discussion on the subject. Surprisingly, neither would their mother. She had shaken her head gravely and stated, "Gene is Tom's son too. This fight belongs to him just as much as it does to you and Nick." At least Gene was a good shot. Jarrod and Nick had worked with him many times over the years, and Gene was at least as good as Jarrod, if not quite as accurate as Nick.

Just before the 8:00 a.m. deadline, a large group of riders rode along the trees screening the edge of Frank's property. Every face on the porch turned in that direction as Frank Semple told his wife to get into the cellar with their children.

Jarrod couldn't count the number of riders gathering in Semple's yard. A hundred? More? Up front, Acting-Sheriff Wallant dismounted and began reading the court order. Jarrod tried to stop him as it served no purpose, but Wallant kept speaking. Everyone involved just wanted to get on with it. The tension was so thick, it could be cut with a knife.

As Wallant continued, they all heard another horse approaching, this one at a gallop. Jarrod searched out the sound and then saw the rider jump Frank's fence. He rode straight through the railroad's hired guns to the house side of the yard. To Jarrod's complete astonishment, it was Heath, the man who might or might not be his brother. He jumped off his mare and hurried onto the porch to stand behind Jarrod and beside Nick. How Heath even knew how to find Semple's farm, Jarrod didn't know, and now wasn't the time to ask.

Wallant finished announcing that the railroad's _agents_ were empowered to do whatever they saw fit to reclaim the property. Hoak, the railroad man beside Wallant, held up his pocket watch, indicating to his _agents_ that the time had arrived. They all cocked their weapons. Jarrod felt a small shiver run through his friends and neighbors on the porch.

Jarrod had decided Wallant just liked to hear himself talk as he kept yammering on. "You have no way! You're just asking to be killed! You're fighting for something you haven't a chance of winning!"

Jarrod interrupted him, "The courthouse opens at 9:00. Will you wait?"

Wallant looked around briefly as the tension ratcheted up another notch. It held briefly, but there was no sign of give on either side. Jarrod silently removed the hammer thong from his pistol.

Then the yard suddenly exploded, and Jarrod saw Frank Semple go down with the first shot. Nick vaulted over the porch rail into the yard for more maneuverability. The air was buzzing with bullets. Jarrod got off a few shots before he felt a hornet zip through his left arm, and he fell to the ground. Suddenly, Gene was beside him. _Gene_ who'd never been to war and had never fought in a real battle. _Gene_ was protecting Jarrod when it was supposed to be the other way around. Nick found cover on the right behind Frank's wagon and continued shooting. Men from both sides were hitting the ground in quick succession as Jarrod managed to get back on his feet so that he and Gene could stand side by side.

After several hours (or maybe just a few minutes), it seemed to Jarrod that the railroad _agents_ were thinning out. And then he was certain of it as the horses in the back began galloping away. Despite the odds, it appeared that the Barkley luck was going to hold and the three—possibly four—Barkleys would come out of this relatively unscathed. Nick stepped away from the cover of the wagon to get in a few more shots. Suddenly, a streak flew across Jarrod's line of sight and slammed into Nick, taking him to the ground. As most of the railroad's hired guns left the yard, Jarrod saw Nick get rolled behind the wagon that had previously provided him cover.

A hush slowly settled as the railroad's roughnecks turned tail. Frank's wife burst out the door and kneeled over his body as Jarrod let his gaze sweep the yard. Four or five down on their side… maybe fifteen to twenty railroad men. How many wounded? Well, Jarrod himself for one, and who knew how many on both sides.

Jarrod was just about to start assessing casualties when he heard, "Charge!" shouted from across the yard. Jarrod searched and caught sight of a lone man coming out of the trees. Wallant! He held a handgun ready and seemed to be talking to… _no one_… as he hurried across the empty space. About halfway across, he stopped, suddenly seeming to realize that he was alone. Jarrod was certain Wallant would turn back, but he didn't. He just stood there, apparently lost in thought.

Jarrod stepped forward slightly, "Drop the gun."

Wallant looked back at him as if surprised anyone was still there. Jarrod wasn't sure what was happening, but it seemed as if the man had expected the railroad's hired guns to follow him on a personally led attack on the farm. But when no one did…

Jarrod tried again, not sure the man was in his right mind. "Drop the gun. Please."

For just a second, he thought it had worked. Wallant started to turn around and leave. But suddenly, he whipped back and raised the gun, aiming at Jarrod.

A single shot rang out, and Wallant fell to the ground. Jarrod watched in bafflement and then turned to see Gene slowly lowering his rifle.

Gene's eyes hesitated before he met Jarrod's gaze, "He was gonna shoot you."

Jarrod nodded, finally realizing that his youngest brother was no longer a boy who needed to be taken care of. "Thank you."

He turned around to find almost all their friends and neighbors watching. Abe Worth stepped out. Jarrod asked him to check on Wallant and to send some fellows to make sure the railroad men had really left the area. Another couple of men began checking to see who needed a doctor. And Nick… was still on the ground.

**BV  
**

The men plotting the murders of Jarrod and Nick Barkley stayed together as they left the abandoned cabin. Heath rode well back to keep from being seen. By the time they got to Stockton, it was near 7:00 a.m. He hoped he'd made the right call by following Wallant. What if he'd gotten even more turned around? Then he would miss the fight completely, and Jarrod and/or Nick might end up dead.

Hoping to get a jump on the railroad, Heath tried to get directions to the Semple farm as soon as he got to town. But there were few people on the streets or open for business that early. As he'd expected, everyone he spoke to looked at him with resentment or suspicion and refused to talk to him. He had no choice but the follow Wallant and the others out.

It didn't take long for the railroad to round up their roughnecks and hit the trail. Once again, Heath maintained a healthy distance. When they finally stopped, he was glad he hadn't ridden out to find the place on his own. He had no idea where he was other than west of the Barkley Ranch.

Once it was clear where everyone was gathered, he put spurs to his horse. He jumped her over a low fence and rode through the hired guns gathered around a small ranch house. As quickly as possible, he dismounted and pulled his rifle before running onto the porch to stand by Jarrod, Nick, and Gene Barkley.

Wallant was going on about the coming fight, but Heath scanned the hired guns, trying to figure who might be eyeing the Barkleys as marks. Watching as the men cocked rifles and handguns, Heath helplessly realized the impossibility of his task. There were just too many of them. He couldn't even set eyes on all the men in the yard. And of course, Jarrod _would_ be standing front and center, just setting himself up as the perfect target.

Then suddenly, the man in charge of the railroad men—and Heath abruptly recognized him as one of the men he'd pulled out of the wrecked train the night of the earthquake—shot Frank Semple, and the battle was joined.

Almost immediately, Nick vaulted the porch rail and moved over to the cover of a large wagon on the right. Heath started to follow, but he realized he'd have a better view of the entire yard from the left side of the porch. He jumped down and made his way there. He did his best to keep an eye on the action, but there was too much going on to follow it all. Anyone who seemed to have a special eye on either Jarrod or Nick, Heath took careful aim.

Then he saw Jarrod fall, and it felt like a punch in the gut. He started to move to cover him, but Gene jumped down to stand by his older brother. And from what Heath could see, Jarrod had only been winged.

Finally, it appeared that the railroad thugs were heading for the hills. Remembering last night's discussion, Heath realized that Wallant had figured it right: men with no skin in the game wouldn't stick with a fight. Heath started to breathe again. It looked like all the Barkleys might survive this.

Then suddenly, Nick ran out front to get a few more shots. Idiot! From the other side of the yard, Heath started running and threw himself into Nick, taking him down and rolling them both back to the wagon for cover. Heath ended up on top, and he took a quick look around as the yard started to empty. Heath glanced down at Nick when he tapped Heath's hip to get him to slide off.

Heath rolled off but stayed down, still not sure the engagement was completely done. Nick rolled over and eyed the yard warily. Sure enough, a loud voice yelled, "Charge!" from the other side of the trees, and Wallant popped up and began jogging across the yard. By himself.

Heath looked over his shoulder to check their rear, wondering if this was a feint to draw their attention from the real second wave attack, but he didn't see or hear anyone else moving. Did the former general not realize that no one was following him?

Wallant unexpectedly stopped in the middle of the yard, evidently only just aware that he was alone. It looked like he was trying to decide what to do next when Jarrod called on him to drop his gun.

"Damn it!" Heath muttered under his breath. Why couldn't these foolish Barkleys just keep their heads down and their mouths shut? Why did they have to put themselves right in the front of this mess? A little voice in the back of his head murmured, 'Because they lead from the front. People look to them.'

Heath started to get up because he didn't have a clear shot. He knew the acting sheriff wasn't going to back down. Wallant started to turn but immediately twisted back, drawing his weapon. The wagon still blocked his shot, and Heath wouldn't be able to get clear in time to stop him from shooting Jarrod.

But another rifle rang out as Heath got to his feet. Wallant fell back, and Heath breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over and saw that Gene Barkley had taken the shot that saved Jarrod. Now, with a decent view of the whole yard, Heath took a quick assessment. No sign of the railroad in front or behind. Unless they were planning a flank attack from behind the barn, Heath thought it might really be over.

Up front—of course, up front—Jarrod took charge of the cleanup. Heath looked back at Nick and saw that he was struggling to sit up. A quick glance and Heath could see the blood stain on Nick's leg. Heath dropped down and pulled out his bandana, wishing it was cleaner. He helped Nick lie flat and began examining the wound on the front and back of his thigh which was difficult to see. He carefully lifted Nick's foot and placed it on his own shoulder to get a better view of the exit wound, catching Nick's gaze in the process.

His eyes spoke of reluctant resentment that he had to depend on Heath for this assistance, but Nick reached up and untied his own bandana before handing it to Heath.

Heath silently acknowledged that Nick still didn't want anything to do with Heath, but the man didn't have much choice at the moment. Using Nick's neckerchief as a bandage, Heath was tying his own around the leg to hold it in place when the other Barkleys hurried up.

Gene knelt down to check their brother. "Nick!"

"Nick, are you all right?"

"When were you hit?"

Nick nodded briefly, "Just before… Heath here… knocked me down. I was shot just as he hit me."

Heath shook his head once. A half second sooner and he might have kept Nick from injury.

Gene piped up, "Did you see who shot him, Heath? I didn't realize anyone was aiming at him. The railroad was starting to pull out. I was kind of surprised when you bowled him over like that."

Heath stood up, "The fool was standing in the middle of the yard just asking to be shot."

Jarrod eyed him carefully, "So was I at one point."

Heath fingered Jarrod's bloody sleeve, seeing that he'd only been grazed which would be painful but wouldn't permanently injure him. "And you got shot too. Gene was there to give you cover when you went down. I was too far away to do that with Nick."

Jarrod didn't seem convinced, "There were other men who could have given Nick some cover—"

"But they didn't know the two of you had a target on your back."

They all three looked alarmed, and Nick called up, "What are you talking about?"

Heath wasn't sure he'd planned on telling them, but his big mouth had taken care of that. "I ran across Wallant after he left the Swenson fire last night. I followed him to a place where he met the railroad men. They figured you two for the leaders of this little rebellion and planned to take you down."

Jarrod and Nick looked a bit startled, and Gene was just plain horrified.

Jarrod recovered the quickest, "And you…"

Heath shrugged slightly, "I overheard their plans and decided I would try to… But I didn't know where…" Heath shook his head as his voice trailed off. His excuses were meaningless when they were both bleeding, and he was standing there right as rain. And Gene was the only reason Jarrod was still breathing; Heath'd had nothing to do with that.

Heath walked away, determined to get as far away as possible from these men who might be his brothers. When he'd come looking for his father, this was not what he'd had in mind.

Walking back toward the barn, he suddenly stopped short and lost his breath. Lying on the ground was his beautiful black mare. A couple of men were on their knees, trying to quiet her as she struggled weakly. He eyed the holes in her chest and leg and knew there was no hope. Unwilling to face another loss, he nevertheless dropped down beside her head. He brushed her neck and spoke softly to her. She quieted some at the sound of his voice. He'd never had any notion of her breeding; he only knew she was fast and responsive and would work her heart out if he asked. She was strong and faithful and his best friend day-in, day-out over the last eight years. He couldn't stand to see her suffering like this. He put the barrel of his handgun just above her eyes and fired, ending her distress but increasing his own. He covered his eyes to keep from seeing her so still and wished he could halt the flood of memories in his head of the many years they'd taken care of each other.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder in solidarity. He glanced up, not expecting to know the person providing the comfort, but it was Jarrod, looking sympathetic and sorrowful.

"I'm sorry, Heath. I'm so sorry."

Heath couldn't find his voice to answer.

Jarrod stared at the horse and shook his head briefly before letting out a deep breath. "I… There is much we need to discuss. Please come back to the house with us."

Heath couldn't think of anything he wanted less. He just needed to leave, to get away; he was so tired. He just wanted somewhere quiet where he could sleep for a couple of days and get his head together. After the loss of his horse, he was pretty much at his wits end. But since he suddenly had no horse and no way to leave—certainly nowhere to go—he nodded and pulled out a knife to cut the cinch on his saddle.


	20. Chapter 20

SS20

Jarrod bit his lips together when Heath had to shoot his horse. The same horse who'd helped pull Jarrod and all those people out of the train just a couple months ago. The same horse and rider who'd beat that very train in a race. The same rider who was now hiding his face in grief. Jarrod would be saddened at the loss of any man's favorite mount. But as he knew how much Heath cared for that particular horse, Jarrod was even more upset. And that this same man might also be his brother…

He reached down and squeezed Heath's shoulder, feeling it tremble in his grip. After a second, Heath looked up.

"I'm sorry, Heath. I'm so sorry." He didn't know what else to say. He tried to come up with something that might comfort Heath, but everything seemed so trite. So Jarrod returned to the main issue although he felt Heath might still resist the overture. "I… There is much we need to discuss. Please come back to the house with us."

Heath seemed worn down and completely lost, like he wasn't sure what to do in the next five minutes, much less the next five days. After a few seconds, he nodded and turned back to deal with his horse.

Jarrod looked around the yard to find Gene watching them.

Gene's eyes were compassionate, "That was a really nice horse." He paused, then, "Jarrod, if Heath hadn't come here today…"

"She'd still be alive."

Gene bit his lip, his voice tentative. "He came because of you and Nick."

Jarrod nodded gravely, "Yes."

"This wasn't his fight, Jarrod. He… he didn't have to be here. And before with Mother… And you on the train. Yesterday in the study, what we were talking about… What if he—?"

Jarrod could see that Gene was genuinely upset. He'd just been through his first gunfight, throwing himself into the middle of it to make sure his older brother was protected. Plus, the possibility that Heath was their brother was a maybe a bit more than he could handle. Jarrod's newly 'adult' youngest brother still needed a little time to learn how to deal with adult emotions and decisions. Jarrod wrapped a hand around Gene's neck and squeezed. "I know how much we owe him. I've asked him to come back to the house with us."

Gene looked relieved. "I'll get the buckboard. And help Nick." He walked away.

Jarrod lifted his hat and scratched his head. There was so much to do. He turned to where Hettie Semple was still weeping over Frank. He murmured that he would be back tomorrow to discuss her situation. Abe Worth was dealing with the bodies. He'd already assigned men to deliver the bad news to the families. Jarrod would need to visit with them this week as well. His mother might want to accompany him. Of course, the railroad wasn't done; Jarrod was certain of that. They wouldn't give up just because of this setback. But it gave Jarrod a little breathing room to find a friendly judge who wasn't in the same party as the governor.

And Nick. Jarrod walked back to find Doctor Merar examining Nick's leg. "How'd you get here so fast, Howard?"

He was winding a clean bandage around the wound, "You think I live in a hole, Jarrod? The whole town's been talking about this since yesterday afternoon when the court orders were delivered. I _assumed_ that someone might need my services, so I followed those hooligans out and waited about a quarter mile away. When the shooting stopped, I came on in."

Adequately chastised, Jarrod changed the subject. "How is he?"

"Looks pretty clean. Bullet went straight through. A fair amount of bleeding, but I've seen worse. We'll watch it for a day or so. If it doesn't seem infected, I'll probably leave it alone. You take him home, put him to bed, have your mother clean it, and tell her I'll be out tomorrow. Unless he gets worse tonight, in which case, let me know, and I'll be out sooner."

Nick nodded decisively, "I say leave it."

Jarrod gave him an older brother stare, "Nobody asked you.

When Doctor Merar lifted Nick's leg off his shoulder, Jarrod noticed a quick grimace on his brother's face. "Anything for pain, Howard?"

Merar stood and poked around in his bag for a second. He pulled out a vial and slid it in Jarrod's shirt pocket. Then he lifted the bloody sleeve on Jarrod's shirt for a quick exam. "Hmm. Seems Nick's not the only one I'll be seeing tomorrow."

"Mother can deal with it."

He nodded, "Yes, but I'll still take a look when I'm out. See you then." He reset his hat and moved on.

Just then, Eugene drove up with the wagon and jumped down. "How is he?"

Jarrod started to answer when Heath silently appeared carrying his saddle and rifle, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else on Earth. Jarrod locked gazes with him and his other brothers for a quick moment. "Howard did a quick patch job and said to put Nick to bed. He'll be out for a more thorough exam tomorrow."

Nick looked dissatisfied that Heath was there, but he didn't say anything. "Don't forget your arm."

Jarrod sighed in fatigue, "I'm the one with the bloody sleeve, Nick, I'm not likely to forget. By the way, Heath is coming home with us. We all have a lot to talk about."

"What?" Nick started to get up but quickly figured out he wouldn't be able to manage it alone. He darted glances at Gene, Heath, and the neighbors still in the yard. For Jarrod, he saved a solid glare and a pointed finger. "If you put me to bed, then we're gonna have that discussion in _my_ room. Got it?"

Jarrod nodded in resignation as he stepped out of the way to allow Gene and Heath to lift Nick onto the buckboard. Jarrod pulled out his pocket watch. How could it possibly be only 9:08 a.m. and he was already this tired?


	21. Chapter 21

SS21

Mrs. Barkley and Audra must have waiting at the door for their men because they rushed from the house and up to the wagon just moments after Gene drove through the front gate. He and Nick were sitting on the front seat while Heath shared the rear with Jarrod. Heath silently watched as the ladies gushed over the Barkley boys, thrilled that they'd all returned and fretting over Nick and Jarrod. He sat there listlessly trying to remember why he'd come back. He didn't belong here. But Mrs. Barkley did catch his eye and nodded slightly; she didn't seem upset. Audra did the same; she only seemed a bit surprised.

Gene finally managed to get the buggy up to the front porch where Silas was also waiting, wringing his hands and smiling like he'd just won a big prize. Mrs. Barkley started giving him directions about water and sheets and bandages and whatnot, and he nodded, asking a question or two before hurrying off. Jarrod got down without any trouble, but Heath and Gene were going to have to get Nick inside and up to his bed. Maybe that's why Heath had tagged along.

With a bit of grunting, tugging, lifting, and pulling, they soon had Nick balanced between them. Mrs. Barkley began directing them on how best to move him into the house and then up the stairs. It was slow getting up that fancy staircase, but at least it was wide and allowed the three of them to go up together, one step at a time.

They finally made it into Nick's room and over to his bed. With a little more grunting, tugging, lifting, and pulling, they finally had him lying down. Nick looked pretty pale under the dirt and sweat that had collected on his face during the fight, and Heath again regretted that he hadn't prevented him from getting shot in the first place.

Heath nodded to them and turned to leave, but then he got a chance to really notice his surroundings. It was just about the grandest room Heath had ever seen, and that included a few truly fine cathouses. It was a big room with space for sleeping, for sitting, for writing, and even for drinking if that's what Nick wanted to do. Heath never would have guessed that a man as rough and tumble as Nick Barkley slept in such a fancy room. The guest room that Heath himself had used those first couple of days after the earthquake didn't hold a candle to this place.

Feeling out of step, he walked out and headed down the stairs, trying to decide what to do next. Just before the bottom step, he heard Jarrod call his name.

"Heath?"

He turned to look back up at the balcony overlooking the front room. Jarrod was standing at the end of the upstairs hall. "Please stay. We have a lot to talk about." Jarrod's face was sincere. Heath couldn't imagine what Jarrod wanted to say other than to make sure that Heath would keep his mouth shut about the possibility of being a Barkley. As Heath wasn't much of a gossip, that shouldn't be a problem. He started to say that, but Jarrod interrupted. "Please, Heath. Just wait till we get Nick settled. Then we'll talk."

Heath didn't know if he'd always been such a pushover or if Jarrod just had a way of getting what he wanted. Finally, he nodded agreement, and Jarrod turned back down the hall, leaving Heath alone in the front room of the house.

He looked around, noticing all the fine furnishings and touches he'd not really paid attention to when he'd spent a few days in the house two months ago—he'd been too worn out then just like today. But now, there was a possibility that his _father_ had built all this. The floor looked to be marble. The grandfather clock was at least a foot and a half taller than Heath himself. He wondered if it chimed like other clocks did. The drapes and furniture looked real soft. Probably velvet. His mother had never even had a dress made out of such fine cloth, and the Barkleys probably had it hanging in every room of their big house, an idea that made Heath furious. He turned left to move into whatever room that was and suddenly remembered it was the study. The study that had Mr. Barkley's portrait hanging on the wall. He'd been in that room just yesterday when he'd found out he might the man's misbegotten son. He sure didn't want to go back in there and have to stare up at the old man again; there would be no controlling his temper then.

He needed to get out of that house. He squared his hat and hurried to the front door. In seconds he was outside, and he managed not to slam the door behind him. Suddenly he could breathe again. When he'd worked in the Strawberry Mine as a child, he'd always been worried about the ceiling falling on him and not being able to breathe. When he finally got outside the house and took a deep breath, that imaginary weight lifted as he felt the release of not being surrounded by all the luxury his mother never knew.

Just as he didn't want to be around all the reminders of things he and his mother never had, he didn't want to be surrounded by anger either. He walked to the end of the porch and headed toward the barns and corrals. He moved over to a paddock where a new young stallion moved restlessly. He was a big red bay, full of fire and spirit, clearly chafing at being inside a fence. Heath walked up to the rail and stood there watching, wishing he was on the horse's back, riding the wind. He remembered his own horse, dead in Semple's side yard. And he grieved her loss again.

Watching the stallion fight for freedom inside the fence, his thoughts wandered back to that time after the war when he was trying to recover his strength and sanity. When he signed up to fight, he hadn't known what he was getting into or the confusion and cruelty that happened in war. Surprisingly, he'd done fairly well adjusting to that, but then he got captured and ended up in Carterson. As cruel and crazy as battle had been, it didn't hold a candle to being a prisoner. There were so many good, strong men in that hellhole who'd died for no reason other than hunger, humiliation, and vindictive brutality. And the fact that he'd survived when so many others did not had left him more muddled and angry than he could deal with.

After his release, he'd returned to Strawberry, hoping that familiar sights and the people he loved would tame the raging beast inside, but that had been impossible. The only job available was in the mine, and he'd sworn never to go back there. Not working had left him more frustrated and angry, and he and his mother got into several arguments. He finally sassed her one too many times, and she ended up slapping him. After he almost hit her back, he realized that he had to leave and find a way to get his anger under control. He'd hit the trail the very next day.

All kinds of jobs, lots of hard work, and meeting a few good men on the road had finally helped him get control of his anger. Getting mad usually only hurt Heath himself unless he followed up his feelings with a punch (which had occasionally landed him in jail, and after Carterson, Heath really didn't cotton to being locked up.) Of course, sometimes there wasn't any choice but to fight if he wanted to be a man his mother wouldn't be ashamed of. But eventually, he'd learned to step back from his anger most of the time and consider all sides, and these days he usually found another way to deal with issues. When he'd first left Strawberry, a knock-down-drag-out might happen every week to week-and-a-half, but now, he could go months at a time between scraps.

That's what he needed to do here: consider all the different angles. Watching that horse stride around the corral, Heath started thinking about the sides of this Barkley thing. On one side… Heath. On the other… the whole Barkley clan: Jarrod, Nick, Audra, Gene, and Mrs. Barkley. On his side was everything he and his mother had done without while he was growing up—sometimes going hungry and cold—and the snide remarks from people who wouldn't associate with them because Heath didn't have a father.

But all that was water under the bridge. Nothing he did now would change any of it.

On the Barkley side… He tried to imagine how he'd feel if he'd been born a Barkley, and some stranger showed up, claiming to be an unknown, unwanted son. That stranger would drag his dead father's good name through the mud when the man wasn't there to answer the accusations. Plus, Heath knew what it meant having a bastard around, how people looked at you. How they talked behind your back… how they disapproved of anyone who associated with a bastard like him. Heath figured he'd fight tooth and nail to prevent that.

Then he thought about what Mrs. Barkley had told him last night about her husband. Heath sure got the impression that she believed he might be her husband's son. And she told him to fight… but for himself or for what he believed in? Was that always the same thing or could they be different?

"Should've known I'd find you out here."

Heath startled when Jarrod spoke to him. He eyed Jarrod's clean shirt and sling. "How's the arm?"

He shrugged his good shoulder, "Looks worse than it feels."

Heath lifted a brow skeptically, "Try that line on your mother or sister. Or maybe Gene. I know how much it hurts."

Jarrod managed a small grin.

"How's your brother?"

"Complaining… which is a good sign. I think he'll be all right. He's a tough old bear."

Heath sighed, "I'm sorry I didn't keep him from…"

After a pause, Jarrod spoke quietly, "After yesterday, I wasn't sure we'd ever see you again. Why did you show up there this morning, Heath?"

Heath stared back at the horse, "I ain't… I can't… I can't just let good people die if there's something I can do to prevent it. When I heard what Wallant and those railroad men were planning for you and your brother, I had to find a way to warn you or prevent it from happening. And I got so turned around riding in the dark, I couldn't get back here. Course, you both ended up getting shot anyway, so turns out I was throwing effort after foolishness. But I couldn't just walk away if I might stop something terrible from happening. I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"That's why you wouldn't stop searching the train. And why you went to such lengths to help us dig Mother out of the cave."

"Wouldn't anyone do that? Don't figure I could call myself much of a man if I walked away from someone needing help."

After another long pause, Jarrod spoke again. "Can I see your mother's letter? The one from the man named Tom?"

Heath continued to watch the horse lope around for a few seconds, finally deciding. "No."

"I can identify my father's handwriting, Heath. I'll know if he wrote it."

"You don't… If I _am_ his son, you don't want to know. Believe me, you don't."

"Of course I do. So do you. You deserve to know, Heath."

Heath took a deep breath, "Why are you doing this? I ain't nothing but a load of trouble.

"You've already proven you're much more than that."

"I'm nobody from nowhere. You don't need to concern yourself with me."

"Everyone is somebody, Heath."

"Yeah, but I'm a lot less somebody than most people, Mr. Barkley."

Jarrod started, "Mr—? You've been calling me 'Jarrod' since you pulled me out of that train."

"That was before."

"Before what?"

"Before I knew I could hurt you and your family. Before I knew I could destroy you."

"You could never hurt us, Heath."

"I hurt you just by being alive. If that _is_ your father's handwriting, what do you think the people of this town—this valley—are gonna do when they find out about me? You think they're gonna look at Tom Barkley the same way? Your _family_ the same way? I can tell you from experience they won't."

"...You don't know the people around here like I do. They won't do that."

"You give 'em too much credit. They will. They always do. You're new to this, but I'm not. And I don't want to bring that kind of shame on your family. Your mother is too fine a lady to have to put up with that kind of horse manure. And I wouldn't want your sister to lose a fella on account of this. You? You might have a career in politics or something. How'd it be if it come up that you have a brother born the wrong side of the blanket? Let me tell you, it won't look good in the papers. Gene? He's still too young to know what he wants to do with himself. I'd be a yoke around his neck. Someone would look at him and wonder what he's dragging behind him. And Nick. Who's got so much pride in his pa. Always wanted to be like him, right? I can just hear the cattle and horse buyers asking whether his stock really is purebred like he claims. 'Cause it's sure and certain not everything else around here is."

"Heath, you don't know any of that will happen."

"This is what I live every day. It'll happen. And I don't want it to happen to your family."

"They may be your family too."

"Not if no one finds out. I've not been part of your lives. I can disappear. It'll be like I never was. And you don't have to worry about any of this coming out, I promise. I won't say nothing."

Jarrod moved closer and put his hand on Heath's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Let me see the letter, Heath. I _have _to know. You say couldn't count yourself a man if you walked away from someone needing help. Well… if my father failed you and your mother, I _need_ to make it right. I couldn't consider myself a man if I don't."

"My mother's gone. Ain't no fixing that."

"And I'm very sorry… but you're right here in front of me."

"If I'm not your father's son?"

"Then there's nothing to get worked up about. You can go on living and working here if you want, and I'll still count myself lucky that you were around the day of the earthquake and every day since."

"And what if I am?"

"Then we'll talk to the family. Figure out something else. Heath, you deserve to know the truth and so do we. If my father's not the man we thought he was, we need to know that, too. Let me see the letter. Please."

Heath closed his eyes in fatigue and thought about the man beside him, a man of integrity and justice, who wanted to do what he felt was the right thing. Jarrod wouldn't rest until he knew the truth, one way or the other. Heath once again felt envy for the good brotherhood he'd witnessed in this family, the love and companionship of a sister… the strength and wisdom in their mother. What a fine family they were. And regardless of the outcome, Heath could still walk away. He was a free man—just as Mrs. Barkley had reminded him last night. Heath unbuttoned his shirt pocket and pulled out the old, worn envelope.

Jarrod hesitated briefly before taking it. Heath watched closely. For a moment, Jarrod studied the writing on the envelope, then opened it and pulled out the letter. He read it through, top to bottom, one time and then again. He shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Heath wasn't sure if it was relief or dread. Then Jarrod carefully refolded the letter and replaced it in the envelope before handing it back to Heath with a grim smile. "My father wrote this. It is his handwriting. I believe you are his son, Heath."

It seemed like the Earth should be shaking again or the sky falling or lightning splitting the heavens, but none of that happened. Heath just stood there watching the horse charge around the corral like nothing had changed. He didn't know what to think, learning something so big after all this time. The letter seemed clear that Tom didn't know Leah was pregnant. But why didn't he check? And why didn't she just tell him? The only two people with the answers were gone, and Heath would never know. Neither would Jarrod, no matter how many times he asked, how much he investigated.

Heath let out a deep breath, "I'm gonna grab my gear and head on down the trail if you'll sell me a horse."

Jarrod shook his head. "Heath, there's something you don't understand about this family. We'll _know_ you're out there. You might leave the ranch or even the state, but you'll never disappear from our thoughts. It will _never_ again be like it was before we found out about you.

"When you stick together, you can deal with pretty much anything. It's like breaking a twig. One stick alone is easy. But when you band five or six together and then try to break them, it can't be done. People that stick together are stronger than they ever are alone. And this family sticks together.

"You've been alone too long… little brother. If you leave now, we're never going to be complete again. And we'll all feel it. Each member of the family that you leave behind will feel your absence."

Heath shook his head in frustration, "Why can't you just forget about me? That I ever existed? I'm sorry I ever came here. Wish I'd never found out."

"I'm not sorry. My God, Heath, you saved my life and my mother's. If you'd never come, we might both be dead. I only see advantages to having you as part of our family."

"Then you're wearing blinders." Heath paused, "If we start down this path, there's no turning back. Once the cat's out of the bag, there won't be any getting it back in."

"Heath, our father poured his life into building our future. He bought it with blood, sweat, and tears. He left us a legacy and a heritage and a name that we're proud of, work for, and try to live up to. You have just as much of his blood as me, Nick, or any of us. That makes you part of it—a part of _us_—whether you're here beside us or across the divide."

Heath looked away, knowing _that_ was exactly what he wanted—to be a part of this family. He wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. And he was afraid to let Jarrod see just how much.

"Please, little brother."

Heath closed his eyes trying to shut out the persuasive voice. He could imagine Jarrod in the courtroom. Probably had juries eating out of his hand. Staying on here wasn't what Heath had decided, but it sounded so good… to have brothers and a family he could depend on, that also depended on him… Never again being alone in the world… Being a little brother and a big brother… Heath was tired and weary, and his defenses were shot right now. He wanted this so much, but—

"Please, Heath. I want you to be my brother."

He dropped his head in defeat. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. No idea."

Jarrod squeezed his shoulder again, "Maybe not, but I know what I'd be losing. And I'm not willing to give that up. Not now… not ever."

Heath looked back at eyes he now saw were quite similar to his own, "I hope you don't live to regret saying that."

Jarrod looked back at him steadily, "Stronger together. Let's go talk to the family. We haven't talked about it, but they'll agree with me. You'll see what I'm talking about."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

As they walked together back toward the house, Jarrod kept a close eye on Heath. He seemed exhausted, but their discussion at the corral made Jarrod worried he might still bolt at the drop of a hat. It was the absolute last reaction Jarrod had anticipated when he walked outside. Nick had certainly expected that Heath would _demand_ that they examine his proof. He was positive that Heath would want every single cent that he felt was owed him. Jarrod had dismissed such an extreme reaction, but he'd also not figured that he would have to practically beg to see Heath's evidence and then to stay and talk to the family once Jarrod was certain that the letter was the proof they needed. As they walked along, Jarrod tried to ascertain Heath's motives for wanting to leave, and then it finally came to him. Heath said he couldn't count himself a man if he didn't try to help when someone was in trouble. Heath figured himself for the trouble, and the best help he could offer was to leave before anyone found out he was Tom Barkley's son.

Jarrod was trying to decide how to go inside, whether he should open the door and enter first—which would give Heath a chance to leave while his back was turned—or whether to ask Heath to lead the way into a house that didn't actually belong to him yet. Jarrod's decision was made when his mother opened the door as they walked across the porch.

"Oh, there you are, Heath. I was worried when I didn't find you in the house. Come inside." She took Heath's hand and pulled him along. Heath looked back at Jarrod in confusion.

Jarrod pursed his lips; he'd still not had a chance to talk to his mother about yesterday's heated discussion in the study. It seemed that she had, indeed, overheard, and that she also had ideas about how the family should handle the situation. He merely followed as she led Heath up the stairs.

"Heath, I know you're tired, but we simply must have a family meeting, and you deserve to be there. And since Nick is stuck in bed, we'll have the discussion in his room."

Heath threw another glance back at Jarrod who simply raised his brow at the impossibility of arguing with her.

The three of them went into Nick's room. Audra was sitting by the bed, but Gene wasn't in evidence. Victoria turned back to Jarrod who raised his hand and headed back to the hall. Gene was just coming out of his room, and he had a questioning look when he caught Jarrod's eye. Jarrod nodded one time, and Gene's face was a picture of shock and dismay. The two of them had briefly discussed Jarrod's purpose in talking with Heath. Gene had clearly hoped that Jarrod would find that Heath's letter came from another man named Tom. It was unfortunate that Gene had to learn that their father was not as faithful as they'd believed, but he needed to accept that people could—and often did—let you down. Even people you loved and had put on the highest pedestal.

Jarrod motioned Gene into Nick's room, and their entrance made the family complete. Looking at each of them, Jarrod could deduce their emotions. Gene looked devastated. Audra was assessing each of them, trying to guess the outcome of their discourse. Nick had done the same, only he'd already figured out the conclusion. He looked ready to protest before anyone even made a statement. Victoria was a stone, completely unreadable. The only way Jarrod knew her thinking was that she'd come looking for Heath, essentially demanding his presence at a _family_ meeting. Heath, once again, looked hunted, like he might open the window and jump.

Their mother started, "There was a discussion in the study yesterday afternoon between you four boys. I overheard parts of it and surmised the rest. I talked to Audra about it this morning while you were at the Semple Farm. I believe we should all discuss it now as a family."

Nick was breathing hard, "Then _he_ doesn't need to be here."

Jarrod walked over to Heath and nodded at his shirt pocket. Heath sighed and gave the letter back to Jarrod. "I believe he does." He held the letter out to Nick. "Take it." Nick looked at it like it might bite him, but he finally accepted the envelope and stared at the front. "It's the letter that Heath got from his mother's bible. It's from a man named Tom saying that he loved her and that he's sorry and that he hopes she'll marry and have children. From the date it was written and when he was born, Heath believes it was written by his father. The handwriting… is Father's."

Jarrod was watching his mother as he spoke. She briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked back at Jarrod, resigned, and nodded one time. She turned to Heath who was staring at the floor. "Heath, your mother's name was Leah, wasn't it?"

Heath's face was a picture of astonishment. He managed to mumble, "Yes, ma'am."

"I finally confirmed my suspicions about an affair a few years before Tom died. He had always denied another woman, but I knew there had been someone between Nick and Audra. One day, we were having an ugly argument while you boys were back East, fighting the war. Gene and Audra were at school. And I brought it up again. I think he finally confirmed the affair with a woman—named Leah—just so I wouldn't bring it up again. I was so surprised that he finally admitted it that I walked away from whatever we were arguing about. After all those years of suspicion, to have it suddenly confirmed was disconcerting. I assumed that he had checked on the possibility that your mother was with child when they parted." She paused and managed a sad smile at Heath, "I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry."

Gene looked crushed, but Audra was actually covering her reaction pretty well. She only seemed a bit surprised and waiting for everyone else's response. Nick's face was gray, and he didn't try to hide his devastation.

Jarrod took a deep breath, "I know how upsetting this is to all of us, but we need to make some decisions. When Heath and I were talking just now, he offered to leave before anyone finds out that he's a Barkley."

Every eye in the room nailed Heath, and he glanced at each of them.

Audra asked what each of them was thinking, "Why, Heath? Why would you do that?"

"I know what's like being the town bastard. It ain't pretty. You're all good people. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"But that's not fair to you."

"Look, I'm not unhappy. I got a decent life. I can go back to what I was before I came here."

He sounded rational and unemotional, but Jarrod didn't believe a word of it. Heath had come looking to find his father—or his father's family. "I don't buy it, Heath. Call it fate or God or what-have-you, but you came here for a reason. You came looking for a place to belong or at least a place where someone cared. Well, you found it. I care. You saved my life after the earthquake and did the same thing for my mother a couple of days later. You _can't_ believe that was chance, not after what we've just learned. You're my father's son which makes you my brother, and I want you in my life."

"Me too," Gene's face was resolved.

"And me." Audra had never looked so certain.

Heath shook his head, "You don't owe me nothing. I would've done that for anyone. I told you that."

Jarrod smiled softly, "That's one of the many reasons I want so badly for you to be my brother."

Their mother crossed the room to grasp Heath's hands, "Heath, you deserve to be here—to be part of this—just as much as any of us. Please. Stay. Be part of our family."

Heath shook his head and closed his eyes, but he didn't pull away from Victoria. His voice was only a whisper, "You don't know. You don't understand how people will act."

"I don't care how they react. If they don't accept you as part of the Barkley family, then we will discontinue relations with them. What's important to me is this family… of which, as far as I'm concerned, you are now a member. Jarrod?"

"I agree completely."

"Gene?"

He nodded gravely one time.

"Audra?"

"I agree with you, Mother."

"Nick?"

All eyes turned toward the bed. Nick's face could not hide his feelings. Jarrod hoped that the evidence in Heath's letter and their mother's knowledge of the affair would persuade him to at least accept Heath's presence even if he didn't embrace his inclusion in the family.

Nick's voice was subdued which almost never happened. "It seems pretty clear that you're my father's son. That's gonna take some getting used to. I don't think you ought to live here, but I won't go against the rest of the family."

Jarrod knew Nick's disappointment in their father would take some time to resolve, but thankfully he didn't let that cloud his sense of fairness.

Their mother spoke again, "Now, Heath, you've been outvoted. You _are_ part of this family."

"That's only 'cause you don't know what you're getting into."

"It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."

"It _does _matter. You only think it don't because none of you were born a bastard."

"I really don't like that word. Please don't use it anymore, especially regarding yourself. What truly matters is what the people in this room think."

"The only reason you don't think it matters is 'cause you've never been the target of it. But we're just going in circles here, and I can see I'm not making a dent in your thinking. You ain't gonna believe me."

"Just as you're not going to believe us when we tell you we don't care what anyone else thinks."

Heath looked even more drained than when they'd been down at the corral. He slowly shook his head, "All right. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Their mother bowed her head in gratitude. Jarrod moved closer and offered his hand. "Welcome to the family, Heath… Barkley."

Heath hesitated before returning the gesture and did the same with Gene a second later. Audra wrapped her arms around his neck, and he seemed completely baffled at her action. Then he looked at Nick who, despite his earlier words, still seemed conflicted. But Nick also held out his hand, and Heath walked over to the bed and shook it briefly.

Victoria stood in front of him, "Now, how about I draw you a bath so you can get cleaned up, and then all four of you boys should get some rest. You all look like you're about to drop. Heath, I'll make up the room you used before. That can be your room, or you can choose another later if you want.

"Don't matter none. Wherever you want to put me is fine, ma'am."

"All right."

"I'll just go down and grab my gear."

Victoria nodded, "Gene, why don't you help him with his saddle. It will go in the _family_ tack room from now on."

Heath looked reluctant but resigned as he glanced at the rest of them and followed Gene into the hall. Victoria and Audra left for the bathroom and what used to be a guest room.

Nick looked at Jarrod with sick eyes, "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure he should have a chance to be part of this family. He has no one, Nick. And he doesn't deserve that. No one does. We have a chance to correct a grave error made by Father, Nick. I don't see that we have any choice. And frankly, I want him here."

"Maybe Father did know about him. Maybe there was a reason he didn't claim him."

"If that's the case, then it's even worse, and I'd be more ashamed than I already am for what he did to Heath and his mother. The preponderance of evidence is that he didn't know about Heath, and that's what I'm choosing to believe. And regardless of what Father did or did not know, we owe it to Heath to rectify the situation as much as we can. He didn't ask to be born. But he's had to deal with the consequences of that every day of his life. And none of that takes into account what he's done for this family—for all of us, but for me especially. We never would have found Mother without him—you _know_ that. And just because you and I got injured this morning doesn't mean he didn't save our lives today. He might well have already shot whoever was specifically aiming at us."

After a second, Nick nodded. Jarrod knew that he would not go back on his word regardless of any reservations he had. "Get some rest, Nick."

Back out in the hall, Jarrod could hear his mother and sister talking in low voices down the hall in the room that would now belong to their new family member. He turned back toward the front stairway. He leaned against one of the upper support posts, looking over the grand entrance to the house.

The earthquake had brought many new changes to the valley, but none as important as the one that had just occurred in Nick's bedroom. Jarrod shuddered to imagine what his father might think. He just didn't believe his father could have known. Whatever his shortcomings, he would not have left a son and his mother to fend for themselves when he had the means to support them.

But as of now, there were four Barkley sons, and Jarrod planned to make sure Heath eventually felt that he belonged there. It would take some time, but Jarrod was certain his new brother was worth the effort. They would all need time to adjust—Nick and Heath especially—and there were financial considerations that would have to be altered as well. But that could wait for a while; Jarrod didn't want to overwhelm Heath on his first day as a Barkley.

Just then, Gene and Heath came back in the front door. "Come on back to the kitchen, Heath. That bath won't be ready yet. We'll just grab you a biscuit and some cheese to hold you till lunch."

Heath, naturally quiet even on the best of days, nodded and glanced up at the room around him and caught Jarrod's eye. He took a deep breath and then followed Gene through the door behind the stairs. Big changes for all of them, but Jarrod was full of hope for the future.

End

Note: Thanks to everyone who read and commented. I truly appreciate all of the kindness. I worked on this story off and on for about ten years, and the comments are like little pats on the back. Thank you all so much.

Best,  
Queena


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